m 


THE 
BARRIER 

BY 
ALLEN  FRENCH 


S^'^ 


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THE   BARRIER 


The  Barrier 

A  Novel 
By  Allen  French 

Author  of  "  The  Colonials  " 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

Published,  May,  1904 


C.  E.  S.  AND  S.  p.  S. 


2135589 


CHAPTER 

PAGK 

I. 

The  Statement  of  the  Case 

.       3 

II. 

Which  Enlarges  the  Stage    . 

.       lO 

III. 

Sets  the  Ball  to  Rolling 

.       21 

IV. 

An  Understanding 

.       26 

V. 

Various  Points  of  View 

•     3* 

VI. 

Introducing  an  Eccentric 

.   41 

VII. 

Chebasset     .... 

.   52 

VIII. 

The  Progress  of  Acquaintance 

.  65 

IX. 

New  Ideas  .... 

•     75 

X. 

Drawn  Both  Ways 

•     83 

XI. 

An  Incident  at  the  Mill 

•     92 

XII. 

Forwards  Various  Affairs 

.  102 

XIII. 

Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Uc 

Lsatis- 

factory      

.  114 

XIV. 

Mr.  Pease  Intrudes  Upon  a  Secret 

•   123 

XV. 

Which  Develops  the  Colonel's  P 

'inan- 

cial  Strategy    . 

.  130 

XVI. 

Something  New   . 

.  145 

XVII. 

Which  Deals  with  Several  of  Oui 

•Per- 

sonages 

•  15s 

XVIII. 

Judith  Buys  a  Typewriter    . 

.  163 

XIX. 

"Put  Money  in  Thy  Purse" 

•  17s 

XX. 

The  Power  of  Suggestion 

.  182 

XXI. 

Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  but  One 

•  194 

CONTENTS— Continued 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  Haroun  Al  Raschid     .         .         .         .206 

XXIII.  Plain  Language 218 

XXIV.  Bringing  About  an  Understanding         .   2  24 
XXV.  The  Colonel  Gives  Up  His  Luxuries     .   235 

XXVI.     In   which  Judge  Harmon  Enters  the 

Story         ......   242 

XXVII.     In   which  Judge  Harmon  Leaves  the 

Story         .         .         .         .         .         .  250 

XXVIII.     Judith  Binds  Herself    .         .         .         .255 

XXIX.     Knowledge  of  New  Things    .         .         .263 
XXX.     Time  Begins  His  Revenges  .         .         .275 
XXXI.     Brings  About  Two  New  Combinations  .  286 
XXXII.     Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Satisfactory  295 
XXXIII.     Contains    Another    Proposal    of    Mar- 
riage, and  Settles  an  Old  Score  .  307 


LIST  OF  CHARACTERS 

IV  TBS  ORDER  OF  THEIR  MENTION 

Stephen  F.  Ellis,  promoter  and  political  boss. 

George  Mather,  a  young  business  man. 

Judith  Blanchard,  of  the  social  set. 

Mrs.  Harmon,  who  has  risen  by  her  marriage. 

Judge  Abiel  Harmon,  advanced  in  years. 

Colonel  Blanchard,  Judith's  father. 

Beth,  his  remaining  daughter. 

Mr.  Price,  the  fashionable  jeweller. 

Mr.  Fenno,  head  of  one  of  the  old  families. 

Mr.  Pease,  a  banker. 

Jim  Wayne,  of  the  social  set. 

Mr.  Daggett,  a  supporter  of  Ellis. 

Miss  Jenks,  Mather's  stenographer. 

Stock,  a  labor  agitator. 


THE   BARRIER 


THE  •  BARRIER 

CHAPTER   I 

The  Statement  op  the  Case 

THERE  is  a  certain  circle  so  well-to-do  that  it  is 
occupied  chiefly  in  guarding  its  property  and 
maintaining  its  exclusiveness.  There  is  a  city 
so  small,  politically,  that  it  is  buttoned  in  one  man's 
pocket.  The  second  of  these  is  the  direct  consequence 
of  the  first.  Leading  families  lead  little  except  the 
cotillion,  parvenus  crowd  in,  and  things  are  done  at 
which  no  gentleman  will  soil  his  gloves. 

In  the  course  of  time,  such  a  community  might 
develop  a  strong  active  class  and  a  superb  set  of  figure- 
heads, if  only  the  two  sorts  would  let  each  other  alone. 
But  the  one  will  envy  and  the  other  sneer;  the  one  will 
long  for  ornament  and  the  other  will  meddle.  A  desire 
to  sparkle  meets  the  desire  to  appear  to  do,  or  at  times 
encounters  the  genuine  longing  to  do.  Dirty  hands  will 
wish  to  be  clean;  clean  hands  must  have  a  Httle  honest 
dirt. 

The  city  of  Stirling  lies  in  New  England;  it  is  one 
among  those  which  look  to  Boston  for  supplies  and  to 
New  York  for  fashions.  Its  history  goes  back  to 
colonial  times:  hence  those  beautiful  estates  in  the 
residential  section  and  the  air  of  pride  in  the  scions 
of  the  old  families.  These  said  scions  collect  much  rent 
and  control  much  water-power,  yet  an  inquirer  imbued 
with  the  modem  spirit  might  ask  them  to  give  an  account 

3 


4  The  Bafficf 

of  themselves.  Their  forefathers  settled  the  country, 
fought  in  the  Revolution,  and  helped  to  build  the 
nation  and  the  State,  but  now  people  whisper  of  degen- 
eration. In  the  old  city  modem  men  have  risen  to 
power,  control  the  franchises,  manage  the  local  govern- 
ment, and  are  large  in  the  public  eye. 

Or  perhaps  it  is  more  accurate  to  say  that  one  man 
does  this.  Ellis  the  promoter,  Stephen  F.  Ellis,  has 
grown  from  nothing  to  everything,  has  consolidated 
businesses,  mastered  the  city  affairs,  holds  all  the  reins, 
pulls  all  the  wires.  The  reform  politicians  have  never 
harmed  him.  The  fashionable  people,  according  to 
their  wont,  for  years  have  avoided  publicity  and  let 
things  go.  The  man  among  them  who,  in  a  generation, 
alone  has  ventured  into  the  field  of  thoroughly  modem 
enterprise,  has  failed  signally,  though  most  gallantly, 
and  in  the  prime  of  his  youth  stands  amid  the  ruins  of  a 
career.  The  very  honour  which  was  his  inheritance 
brought  him  low. 

He  had  been  a  contrast  to  Ellis  in  the  openness  of  his 
methods  and  the  rapidity  of  his  success.  To  organise 
all  the  street-railways  of  his  city,  to  force  his  person- 
ality upon  the  stockholders  of  three  lines,  and  to  weld 
the  old  clumsy  systems  into  one  efficient  whole — that 
was  George  Mather's  achievement.  To  be  head  and 
shoulcjers  above  all  others  of  his  years  as  the  street- 
railway  president,  yes,  and  as  the  man  in  whom  the 
reform  politicians  built  their  best  hopes — that  was  his 
pride,  and  his  class  was  proud  of  him.  But  his  strength 
was  his  weakness,  for  he  used  no  trickery  and  he  kept 
his  word.  Therefore  by  a  business  stroke  undertaken 
against  him  in  the  face  of  an  agreement,  a  method  not 
so  analogous  to  a  stab  in  the  back  as  to  the  adroit 
administering  of  poison  in  a  loving-cup,  Mather  was  upon 
a  certain  spring  morning,  at  a  certain   stock-holders' 


The  Statement  of  the  Case  5 

meeting,  by  a  small  but  neat  majority  voted  out  of 
ofl&ce,  and  stood  robbed  of  the  best  fruits  of  his  labours. 

Those  who  saw  him  that  afternoon  upon  the  golf- 
course  marvelled  as  he  played  his  match  with  the 
precision  of  a  machine.  Had  the  man  no  nerves  ?  But 
though  thus  he  proved — to  others,  not  to  himself — that 
he  could  bear  misfortune  without  flinching,  it  was  with 
unspeakable  relief  that  at  last  he  slipped  away  into  an 
empty  comer  of  the  club-house,  whence  he  could  hear 
only  the  buzz  of  the  Saturday  crowd  on  the  grounds 
outside.  The  tension  of  the  last  few  hours  relaxed 
suddenly,  and  now  that  he  was  freed  from  the  gaze  of 
others  he  gave  way  almost  to  despair. 

The  silver  cup  which  he  had  won  he  tossed  upon  the 
table,  and  dropping  his  clubs  upon  the  floor  he  threw 
himself  into  a  chair.  Beaten !  To  have  stood  so  high 
in  the  little  city,  to  fall  so  suddenly,  and  to  lose  so 
much !  True,  he  had  made  money ;  he  had  gained  the 
support  of  the  rich  men  of  his  class,  who  had  assured 
him  that  they  would  wait  their  chance  to  set  him  again 
in  his  place.  But  it  was  Ellis  who  had  seized  that  place: 
when  had  Ellis  ever  given  up  anything  which  he  had 
gained?  Yet  it  was  not  Mather's  fall,  nor  the  hurt  to 
his  pride,  nor  even  the  loss  of  the  chance  to  carry  out 
his  plans,  which  shook  him  most,  but  the  danger  to 
still  dearer  hopes .  And  the  young  man ,  almost  groaning , 
dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast. 

A  girl  entered  the  room  suddenly,  and  stood  startled 
at  the  sight  of  him,  but  she  was  not  heard.  She  wished 
to  withdraw,  yet  feared  to  rouse  him,  and  his  deep 
ft-Qwn  fascinated  her.  Staring  downward,  scowling 
with  his  thoughts,  his  face  had  at  first  expressed  anger, 
but  now  showed  pain.  Judith,  too,  he  was  thinking — 
had  she  changed  to  him?  When  he  hurried  to  her 
after  this  morning's  meeting,  so  soon  as  he  could  free 


6  The  Barrier 

himself  from  his  friends,  already  she  had  heard  the  news. 
She  had  not  let  him  speak  with  her  alone,  but  though 
she  must  have  known  his  wish  she  kept  her  father  in 
the  room.  If  with  her  ambitions  she  felt  disappointed 
in  him,  if  she  rejected  him — ^well,  he  could  bear  even 
that !  The  girl  who  was  watching  saw  his  expression 
change  to  determination,  and  then  suddenly  he  roused 
himself.  No  one  should  find  him  brooding.  As  he 
raised  his  eyes  from  the  carpet  she  turned  to  escape, 
but  he  saw  her  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Judith!"  She  stopped;  perceiving  her  desire  he 
added:  "Don't  let  me  keep  you." 

Then  she  came  to  him  directly.  "I  thought  you 
were  outdoors.  Every  one  was  congratulating  you; 
the  club  has  never  seen  such  golf.     It  was  splendid  ! " 

He  smiled,  indifferent  to  the  praise,  and  picking  up 
the  cup  from  the  table,  looked  at  it  carelessly.  "Only 
for  that." 

"And  Jim  Wayne  would  give  his  head  for  it,"  she  said. 

Disdainfully,  he  shifted  the  cup  into  his  palm,  and 
with  a  single  effort  crushed  it  out  of  shape.  "See," 
and  he  meant  to  personify  himself,  "it  is  only  silver;  it 
lacks  strength." 

"Ah,"  she  answered,  "don't  be  bitter.  Come,  forget 
the  street-railroad,  forget  you  ever  were  its  president, 
forget  everything  except  your  friends." 

"Judith,"  he  returned  with  meaning,  "can  you  forget 
what  I  have  lost?" 

She  drew  back,  flushing.     "George!" 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  "I  know  I  am  rude!  But  to-day 
when  I  came  to  see  you,  you  knew  what  had  happened 
to  me.  If  ever  I  needed  comfort  it  was  then,  and  you 
knew  it.  There  was  only  one  consolation  that  would 
help  me,  and  you  knew  that,  but  you  denied  me.  Judith, 
have  I  lost  my  chance  with  you  ? " 


The  Statement  of  the  Case  7 

She  flushed,  as  if  conscience  drove  home  a  rebuke. 
"I  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind."  But  then  she  looked 
about  uneasily,  at  the  door  at  her  back,  and  at  the 
curtains  which  shut  ofE  the  adjoining  room.  "I — I 
think  I  must  go." 

"No,"  he  protested.  "Let  us  have  it  out;  no  one  is 
near.  Give  me  my  sentence,  Judith.  You  know  I've 
loved  you  for  years.  It  was  for  you  I  built  up  the  rail- 
road ;  you  are  the  impelling  cause  of  all  my  work.  This 
winter  I  thought  I  had  pleased  you.  Is  there  any 
hope  for  me?" 

He  spoke  without  a  tremor  of  the  voice,  but  he 
clenched  his  hands  as  he  waited  for  her  answer,  and  his 
eyes  were  eager.  Before  them  she  dropped  her  own. 
"Not  now,"  she  answered. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked  almost  gently,  "why  you  have 
changed." 

She  stood  silent,  with  her  eyes  still  downcast,  but  her 
mouth  grew  harder. 

"  No,  don't  explain,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  understand. 
I  understood  when  I  left  your  house  to-day.  Judith, 
don't  you  know  that  I  have  learned  to  read  you  ?  This 
morning  I  was  beaten,  and  you  require  of  a  man  that  he 
shall  succeed." 

Her  eyes  flashed  up  at  him.  "Well,"  she  demanded, 
"and  if  I  do?     Can  I  be  different  from  what  I  am?" 

"We  make  ourselves,"  he  replied. 

Her  defiance  was  brief,  and  she  asked  earnestly: 
"Why  have  you  let  me  plague  you  so?  Choose  again, 
some  softer  woman." 

"My  choice  is  fixed,"  he  answered  simply. 

"Then  at  least,"  she  said,  "we  will  remain  friends?" 

His  face  cleared,  and  he  smiled.  "So  far  as  you 
permit." 

"But  without  enthusiasm,"  she  reproached  him. 


8  The  Barrier 

"Ah,  Judith,"  he  answered,  "you  know  you  don't 
require  it." 

"And  we  won't  speak  of  this  again ? "  she  asked. 

"Just  these  last  words,"  he  said.  "Remember  that 
this  defeat  is  not  the  end  of  me;  I  shall  yet  give  an 
account  of  myself."  She  saw  how  resolute  were  his 
eyes,  but  then  his  look  again  became  gentle  as  he  added: 
"And  this,  too.  The  world  fascinates  you.  But 
Judith,  it  is  very  big,  and  strong,  and  merciless  !" 

Was  it  not  a  beaten  man  who  spoke  ?  She  answered, 
"I  do  not  fear  it,"  and  studied  him  to  find  his  meaning. 

But  with  a  steadiness  which  allowed  no  further  show 
of  feeling  he  replied:  "If  ever  you  do,  then  turn  to 
me. 

They  finished  without  words  of  parting;  she  quitted 
him  abruptly,  he  took  up  the  caddy-bag  and  stuffed  the 
ruined  cup  in  among  the  clubs.  Though  she  paused  an 
instant  at  the  door,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said. 
Regretfully  he  watched  her  go:  bright,  fearless,  and 
inquisitive  as  she  was,  where  was  her  nature  leading 
her?  He  knew  her  restless  energy,  and  at  the  moment 
feared  for  her  more  than  for  himself. 

As  for  her,  he  had  pricked  her  deeply  by  his  warning. 
The  world  would  never  be  too  much  for  her.  Let  it  be 
however  big  and  strong,  she  admired  it,  must  learn 
about  it !  She  would  never  cry  for  mercy.  The  thought 
did  not  cross  her  mind  that  he  knew  the  world  better 
than  she,  that  although  defeated  he  was  more  its  master. 
At  twenty -three  one  is  confident. 

And  as  for  his  charge  that  she  thought  less  of  him, 
she  told  herself  that  it  was  not  his  disaster  that  separated 
them.  Rather  it  was  the  quality  which  the  disaster  had 
but  emphasised  in  him — the  self-confidence,  real  or 
counterfeit,  with  which  he  had  always  assumed  that  he 
could  go  his  own  way  in  making  a  home  in  which  to  take 


The  Statement  of  the  Case  9 

care  of  her.  How  he  mistook  her !  She  did  not  ask 
for  safety  from  the  world;  it  was  the  key  to  her  whole 
character  that  she  wished  to  be  more  than  a  mere 
comfort  to  a  man.  Should  she  ever  accept  a  husband, 
she  must  be  an  active  rather  than  a  passive  element  in 
his  strength,  counselling,  inspiring,  almost  leading  him. 
Between  herself  and  Mather  there  was  an  unremitting 
conflict  of  will.  She  left  the  club-house,  and  went  out 
upon  the  lawn  with  her  cheeks  a  little  redder  than  usual, 
her  black  eye  brighter,  her  head  held  still  more  high. 

Men  came  instantly  about  her — young  men  eager  to 
please.  But  with  her  thoughts  still  busy,  she  measured 
them  and  found  them  lacking;  they  had  never  done 
anything — they  had  not  yet  arrived.  The  most  masterly 
of  them  all  she  had  left  in  the  club-house,  and  he,  after 
climbing  to  high  place,  had  fallen.  Was  it  possible 
that  the  only  men  of  power  were  older  still  ?  Then  she 
progressed  to  a  still  more  searching  question.  Could 
this  vapid  and  ambitionless  assembly  produce  real  men  ? 


CHAPTER  II 
Which  Enlarges  the  Stage 

On  the  day  which  brought  to  Mather  his  two  crushing 
defeats,  the  cause  of  them,  ElHs,  that  type  of  modern 
success,  openly  embarked  upon  his  latest  and  his 
strangest  venture.  Not  satisfied  with  his  achievements, 
and  burning  with  the  desire  for  recognition,  he,  whose 
power  was  complete  in  every  part  of  the  city  save  one, 
turned  to  that  quarter  where  alone  he  had  met  in- 
difference, and  began  his  campaign  against  the  citadel 
of  fashion.  The  guests  at  the  golf -club  tea  were  some- 
what startled  when,  at  the  side  of  their  latest 
parvenue,  whose  bold  beauty  and  free  ways  they  had 
not  yet  learned  to  tolerate,  they  perceived  the  man 
whose  characteristics — a  short  figure  and  large  head, 
thinly  bearded,  with  sharp  features  and  keen  eyes — 
were  known  to  all  students  of  contemporary  caricature. 
Ellis  was  received  with  the  coolness  which  his  companion 
had  foreseen. 

"They  won't  like  it,  Stephen,"  she  had  said  when  he 
proposed  the  undertaking  to  her.  "So  soon  after  this 
morning,  I  mean ;  you  know  Mr.  Mather  is  very  popular." 

"I'll  take  the  risk,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  bother,"  she  went  on.  "It's 
been  easy  enough  for  me,  marrying  the  Judge,  to  go 
where  I  please — and  yet  it's  a  continual  struggle,  after 
all.     It  isn't  such  fun  as  you'd  think,  from  outside." 

He  scowled  a  partial  acquiescence.  Living  near  the 
social  leaders,  it  had  been  an  earlier  hope  that  to  be  their 

lO 


Which  Enlarges  the  Stag:e  ii 

neighbour  would  open  to  him  their  doors.  He  had  built 
himself  that  imposing  edifice  upon  the  main  street  of 
fashion,  so  that  where  the  simple  Georgian  mansion  of 
the  Waynes  had  stood  the  Gothic  gorgeousness  of  a 
French  chateau  forced  attention.  But  in  spite  of  the 
money  he  lavished  there,  it  had  not  taken  Ellis  long  to 
discover  that  the  widow  Wayne,  who  was  his  neighbour 
still  (having  refused  to  part  with  the  original  homestead 
of  the  family),  had  more  honour  in  her  Uttle  clapboarded 
cottage  than  he  in  his  granite  pile.  The  widow's  son, 
who  nodded  so  carelessly  to  Ellis  when  they  met,  and 
yet  was  but  a  broker's  clerk,  had  with  his  youth  and 
grace  a  more  valuable  possession  still — his  name. 

Sometimes  Ellis  felt  it  almost  too  exasperating  to 
live  among  these  people  and  be  ignored  by  them,  yet  he 
gritted  his  teeth  and  stayed,  thinking  that  perseverance 
must  win  in  the  end,  and  perceiving  that  from  the  midst 
of  his  enemies  he  might  best  plan  his  campaign.  He 
spun  his  webs  with  unconquerable  patience,  studying 
the  social  news  with  the  same  keenness  which  he  brought 
to  the  stock-market  reports,  and  looking  ahead  to  a 
possible  combination  which  would  give  him  the  oppor- 
tunity he  desired.  And  now  he  believed  that  at  last  he 
actually  saw  his  chance,  and  his  hopes  were  rising. 

"Maybe  I'm  a  fool,"  he  said,  "but  by  Gad  I'll  at  least 
have  one  look  inside,  and  see  what  others  find  there.  I 
notice  that  you  worked  hard  enough  to  get  in,  and 
now  you  work  to  stay.  But,  Lydia,  if  you  want  to 
keep  these  people  to  yourself " 

"The  idea ! "  she  cried.     "You  are  welcome  to  them." 

"Or  if  you  think  I  shall  hurt  your  position " 

He  paused  for  a  second  disclaimer,  but  none  came;  his 
directness  had  confused  her,  and  he  knew  he  had  struck 
near  the  truth.  "Anyhow,"  he  finished,  "you  promised 
me  this  long  ago,  and  I'll  keep  you  to  the  bargain." 


13  The  Baffler 

Now  she,  the  maker  of  this  promise  to  Elhs,  was 
the  wife  of  Judge  Abiel  Harmon,  whose  ancient  family, 
high  position,  and  fine  character  were  everywhere 
honoured.  Nevertheless,  Ellis  was  able  to  regard  her  as 
his  entering  wedge,  for  they  had  been  boy  and  girl 
together  in  the  same  little  town.  While  yet  in  his  teens 
he  went  to  try  his  chances  in  the  city;  years  afterward, 
when  her  ripe  charms  had  captivated  the  old  Judge,  she 
found  her  fortune  and  followed.  When  she  met  Ellis 
again  their  social  positions  were  widely  different,  but 
interest  drew  the  two  together,  and  though  the  Judge 
had  no  liking  for  Ellis,  he  did  not  inquire  what  Mrs. 
Harmon  did  with  her  leisure;  therefore  she  maintained 
with  the  promoter  an  intimacy  which  to  them  both 
promised  profit.  To  him  the  first  advantage  was  this 
visit  to  the  golf  club,  but  while  on  inspection  of  the 
crowd  he  knew  he  could  buy  up  any  member  of  it  at  a 
fair  valuation,  they  did  not  appear  to  like  him  the  better 
for  that,  and  their  groups  melted  marvellously  before 
him.  As  a  relief,  Mrs.  Harmon  took  him  to  the  club- 
house, but  the  dreary  promenade  through  its  rooms, 
where  her  vocabulary  was  exhausted  and  her  enthusiasm 
lapsed,  became  at  last  an  evident  failure.  When  she 
had  said  all  that  she  could  of  the  conveniences  of  the 
lower  floor  she  led  him  to  the  stairs. 

"If  you  care  to  go  up,"  she  suggested,  "the  bed- 
rooms might  interest  you." 

But  she  looked  out  on  the  lawn  through  the  open  door, 
and  longed  to  be  there.  The  chattering  groups  called 
to  every  instinct  of  her  nature;  she  wished  to  get  rid  of 
this  encumbrance — to  hand  him  over  to  any  one  and 
take  her  pleasure  as  she  was  used.  And  Ellis,  too, 
looked  out  through  the  doorway. 

"Up-stairs  is  more  likely  to  be  stupid,"  he  said 
bluntly.     "Let's  go  outdoors  again." 


Which  Enlarges  the  Stagfe  13 

In  Mrs.  Harnion's  relief,  she  did  not  notice  the  char- 
acteristic which  he  displayed  in  this  answer.  Ellis 
was  a  fighter;  power  was  all  very  well,  but  the  winning 
of  it  was  better.  Just  now  he  was  like  Alexander 
before  India — looking  upon  a  domain  which  must  be 
his,  and  eager  for  the  struggle.  These  people,  and  they 
alone,  could  put  the  capstone  to  the  pyramid  of  his 
successes,  and  could  lend  glamour,  if  not  give  glory,  to 
that  wholly  material  structure.  He  would  force  them 
to  it !  Watching  society  disport  itself,  he  regarded  it 
as  his  natural  prey.  That  assemblage  was  characterised 
by  a  suavity  which  deceived  him;  as  he  viewed  the 
throng  it  seemed  all  mildness,  all  amiability.  He  did 
not  appreciate  the  power  of  resistance  of  the  apparently 
soft  people. 

And  yet  he  had  learned  that  money  was  not  the 
effective  weapon  he  had  once  supposed  it.  The  arro- 
gance of  possession  was  against  him,  and  though  he  did 
not  understand  the  subtle  reasons  for  his  exclusion,  he 
was  sure  that  something  besides  a  golden  key  was 
needed  to  open  those  doors. 

It  was  not  in  Ellis  to  remake  himself,  nor  did  he  try 
to  change  his  ways.  As  when  he  faced  the  difficulty  of 
buying  the  city  government,  he  merely  studied  human 
weaknesses.  The  former  experience  had  taught  him  that 
men  are  easier  bribed  without  money  than  with,  and 
that  there  are  some  passions,  some  ambitions, 
which  do  not  include  financial  ease.  Moreover, 
he  had  formed  his  plan;  it  was  time  to  make  the 
attempt. 

"Miss  Judith  Blanchard — she  is  here?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Harmon  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Did  he  wish 
to  meet  a  girl?  So  far  she  had  conducted  the  enter- 
prise, and  since  their  entrance  on  the  grounds  had  tried 
to  help  him  by  introductions  to  the  older  people.     But 


14  The  Barrier 

the  experiment  had  failed,  and  he  had  no  intention  of 
repeating  it. 

"Why,  she  is  here,"  she  answered  in  doubt. 

"Then  introduce  me  to  her,"  he  directed  brusquely. 

Oh,  if  he  wished !  Mrs.  Harmon  was  not  pleased  to 
be  so  ordered ;  she  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  her  day. 
It  was  very  troublesome,  this  trying  to  introduce  Ellis. 
The  manner  of  Mrs.  Watson  had  been  more  distant  than 
ever,  while  as  for  Mrs.  William  Fenno,  her  behaviour  had 
been  arctic.  Mrs.  Harmon  cared  for  no  further  snubs, 
but  if  Ellis  wished  to  run  the  risk  of  the  meeting — well, 
Judith  would  fix  him !  Not  pausing  to  watch  the 
process,  Mrs.  Harmon  presented  Ellis  to  the  young 
lady  and  escaped  to  her  own  enjoyments. 

Ellis  was  where  he  had  many  times  imagined  himself, 
standing  before  Judith  Blanchard,  while  the  young  men 
fell  away  on  either  side.  He  was  meeting  her  glance,  he 
was  seeing  for  himself  the  "queenly  form,"  the  "regal 
head"  (vide  the  social  columns  of  the  Herald),  and  he 
was  experiencing  at  close  hand  the  influence  of  her 
personality.  It  was  magnetic  even  to  him,  for  on  hear- 
ing his  name  she  turned  quickly,  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye,  and  offered  him  her  hand  almost  as  a  man 
would  have  done.  When  she  spoke  her  voice  had  not 
the  artificial  tones  of  the  women  he  had  so  far  met;  it 
had  a  genuine  ring. 

"So  you  are  Mr.  Ellis?" 

"You  know  of  me,  then?"  he  asked. 

"Every  one  has  heard  of  you,  even  girls,"  she  replied. 
Any  one  might  have  said  this,  but  not  with  her  look, 
not  with  that  bright  glance.  She  asked  another  ques- 
tion, which  showed  to  those  who  listened  her  interest 
in  the  man.  "You  have  settled  the  water-works 
affair?" 

John  Trask  turned  and  strolled  away;  Will  Mayne 


Which  Enlargfes  the  Stage  15 

bowed  to  Miss  Blanchard  and  silently  betook  himself 
elsewhere;  Ripley  Fenno  mumbled  a  request  to  be  ex- 
cused, and  left  Miss  Blanchard  alone  with  her  new 
acquaintance.  Within  five  minutes,  five  times  as  many 
people  were  watching  the  pair  curiously,  but  absorbed 
in  a  new  interest,  they  did  not  notice. 

"What  do  you  know,"  he  asked  her,  "about  the  water- 
works?" 

But  she  pursued  her  own  inquiries.  "Or  does  the 
street-railway  not  take  up  your  time?  Or  perhaps," 
she  added  boldly,  "the  court-house  has  no  need  of  the 
services  of  its  contractor." 

Now  the  boldness  of  this  last  remark  consisted  in  the 
reminder  of  a  certain  scandal,  public-minded  citizens 
(of  whom  the  chief  was  Judge  Harmon)  claiming  that 
there  had  been  boodlery  in  the  recent  repairs  of  the 
court-house.  It  was  more  than  hinted  that  Ellis  had 
backed  the  contractors,  and  that  he  had  shared  the 
profits.  His  face  changed,  therefore,  as  she  spoke,  and 
she  saw  in  his  eyes  a  sudden  gleam — of  anger  ? 

"Or,"  she  asked  quickly,  "have  I  misread  the  papers, 
and  you  are  not  the  contractor,  after  all?" 

He  was  himself  again,  although  looking — staring, 
almost — ^with  deeper  interest.  At  first  he  said  no  more 
than  "I  am  not  the  contractor,"  but  to  himself  he  was 
crying:  Success !  He  believed  she  had  provoked  him 
deliberately;  he  saw  that  she  had  studied  his  doings,  for 
the  court-house  affair  was  almost  a  year  old,  the  water- 
works deal  occurred  months  ago,  and  the  street-railway 
coup  was  of  this  very  day. 

"How  much  you  know  of  matters!"  he  cried. 

"I  read  the  newspapers,"  she  explained,  "and  with 
an  object." 

"An  object?"  he  asked. 

"I  want  to  know  what  is  going  on,"  she  explained. 


x6  The  Barrier 

"I  want  to  have  to  do  with  real  things.  I  am  interested 
in  the  doings  of  men,  Mr.  ElUs."  And  she  made  him  a 
little  bow,  which  he,  still  staring,  made  no  attempt  to 
answer.  Then  she  turned,  and  walked  toward  a  more 
open  space  where  people  could  not,  as  they  were  be- 
ginning to  do,  press  around  them.  "Will  you  not  come 
and  see  the  grounds  ? "  she  asked.  In  great  satisfaction 
he  kept  at  her  side. 

So  this  was  Judith  Blanchard !  He  had  not  believed 
it,  had  laughed  at  himself  for  hoping  it,  but  she  was 
what  he  had  imagined  her.  Months  of  study  had  gone 
to  make  up  his  opinion  of  her ;  he  had  read  of  her,  heard 
of  her,  watched  her.  Quick,  impetuous,  somewhat 
impatient  of  conventions — that  was  Judith. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "that  we  have 
met  before?  In  a  street-car,  not  a  fortnight  ago,  we 
rode  facing  each  other  for  quite  a  while.  I  remember 
meeting  your  eye." 

He  had  recalled  it  many  times.  "I  hope  I  didn't 
look  too  much  at  you,"  he  said.  "You  must  be  used 
to  having  people  watch  you." 

"Oh,  please  don't  compliment,"  she  interrupted, 
"or  you  will  spoil  my  idea  of  you.  I  imagine  you  a 
man  who  thinks  to  the  point,  and  speaks  so,  too.  Yes, 
people  do  watch  me  wherever  I  go;  they  give  me 
flattery,  and  think  I  love  it.  But  if  you  and  I  are  to 
be  friends " 

"Friends!"  he  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"Are  you  not  willing?" 

"Willing!"  he  repeated.  "Miss  Blanchard,  you 
offer  what  I  had  not  dared  to  hope  one  person  here 

would  think  of  in  connection  with  me.     I "     He 

looked  at  her  searchingly.     "You  are  not  teasing  me?" 

"I  used  a  strong  word,"  she  said. 

"Then  you  did  not  mean  it?" 


Which  Enlarges  the  Stage  17 

"Why,"  she  endeavoured  to  explain,  "I  spoke  hastily. 
I  have  few  friends." 

"Few  friends?     You?" 

"Yes,  I,"  she  answered.  "Among  the  men,  I  mean. 
Those  of  my  age  are  so  " — and  she  smiled — "so  young  ! 
I  am  not  posing,  Mr.  Ellis." 

Nor  was  she.  Her  interest  in  the  great  worid  was 
genuine,  even  if  ill-balanced.  Ruled  by  it,  she  looked 
into  men  and  discovered,  not  how  much  there  was  in 
them,  but  how  little  they  had  for  her.  The  good,  the 
amiable,  the  well-intentioned,  had  none  of  them  enough 
backbone  to  suit  her;  it  was  power  that  she  wished  to 
find.  Always  among  respectable  people,  she  was  often 
impatient  at  their  mediocrity;  always  among  young 
people,  she  was  tired  by  their  immaturity.  This  day 
she  had  for  the  first  time  questioned  if  older  people  of 
another  class  had  not  more  for  her;  she  had  been  re- 
peating the  question  at  the  moment  when  Ellis  was 
presented.  And  now,  without  pose,  she  scrutinised 
him  with  frank  question:  Was  he  one  who  could  bring 
an  interest  into  her  life  and  let  her  see  the  workings  of 
the  world? 

And  he  knew  she  was  not  posing.  "It  is  sometimes 
troublesome  to  be  friends  with  people,"  he  said.  "  To  be 
bound  to  them,  to  have  considerations  of  them  prevent 
free  action — that  is  what  friends  mean  in  business." 

"And  you  have  few,  as  well?" 

"I  have  dependents." 

He  spoke  wisely,  for  the  term  struck  her.  Depend- 
ents !  She  had  felt  isolation,  but  it  was  that  of  the 
looker-on.  There  was  something  regal  in  this  man's 
loneliness,  for  that  he  was  lonely  she  divined. 

"People  need  you,"  she  said  with  approval.  "They 
cannot  get  along  without  you.  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed, 
"I  have  sometimes  thought  what  power  is  in  the  hands 


i;8  The  Barrief 

of  such  men  as  you.  You  can  mould  a  whole  com- 
munity ;  you  can  set  your  mark  on  a  city  so  that  it  will 
tell  of  you  forever."  Behind  a  steady  face  he  concealed 
astonishment  and  question.  "You  can  do  so  much 
good !"  she  finished. 

"Much  good — ^yes,"  he  returned  uncertainly.  Such 
enthusiasm  was  new  to  him,  especially  when  applied 
to  what  the  opposition  newspapers  bluntly  called 
"jobs."  He  perceived  that  where  he  saw  only  money 
in  his  enterprises,  Judith  saw  great  opportunities. 
"Yes,  much  good — if  we  can  only  do  it.  Where  there 
is  power  there  is  also  responsibility.  How  can  a  man 
know  whether  he  is  doing  the  right  thing,  especially" — 
and  he  smiled — "when  all  the  newspapers  say  he  is 
doing  wrong?" 

"A  man  must  follow  his  conscience,"  she  replied,  so 
gravely  that  he  was  uncomfortable,  for,  thus  innocently 
spoken,  her  words  carried  a  sting.  He  tried  to  finish 
the  subject,  and  by  his  usual  method — by  meeting  it 
directly. 

"A  man  works  as  he  can,"  he  said,  "doing  what  seems 
best.  He  has  to  think  of  the  present,  but  as  you  seem 
to  know,  he  works  for  the  future  too.  It  is  an  interest- 
ing life  and  a  busy  one." 

"  Interesting  ? "  she  echoed.  "  Oh,  it  must  be !  Why 
should  it  not  be  all-sufficient?  Why  should  you  come 
here ? "  He  stared  at  her  again,  and  she  asked :  "What 
have  we  that  can  interest  you  ? " 

He  answered  with  a  simplicity  that  was  almost  great, 
an  acknowledgment  of  his  desires  which  was  unparalleled 
in  his  career,  but  which  meant  that  without  hesitation 
he  put  himself  in  her  hands,  to  betray  if  she  wished, 
but  perhaps  to  save.  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
groups  behind  him. 

"I  want  to  get  in,"  he  said. 


Which  Enlarges  the  Stage  19 

"To  get  in?"  She  smiled,  and  he  doubted.  "To 
get  in,  when  I  sometimes  wish  to  get  out  ?  In  here  it's 
so  dull!" 

"I  don't  care  for  that,"  he  replied, 

"Sit  down,  then,"  she  directed.  "Let  us  talk  it 
over." 

Seated  on  a  bench,  half-facing,  each  had  a  moment 
to  consider.  She  did  not  take  it;  he  did,  for  he  was 
beginning  to  recover  himself  and  to  study  her.  Beauty 
and  grace,  with  that  direct  glance  and  genuine  voice, 
were  her  chief  outward  characteristics.  Of  her  inward 
motives,  most  prominent  appeared  her  desire  for  some- 
thing new;  more  strong,  perhaps,  was  her  interest  in 
matters  beyond  her  sphere.  This  interest  of  hers  was 
to  him  a  gift  of  fortune;  it  might  bring  him  anywhere. 
But  to  Judith  this  situation  was  new;  therefore  she 
enjoyed  it.  She  paused  no  longer  than  to  consider 
what  she  should  ask  him  next,  and  then  pursued  the 
subject. 

"How  have  you  meant  to  go  about  it ? "  she  inquired. 

"Why,"  he  hesitated,  "my  friends " 

"What  friends?" 

He  acknowledged  frankly:  "I  have  but  one — Mrs. 
Harmon." 

"Oh,  only  Mrs.  Harmon?" 

Only !  The  tone  and  the  word  struck  him.  Was 
Mrs.  Harmon,  then,  not  fully  in?  His  mind  reached 
forward  blankly:  who  else  could  help  him? 

"  But  you  must  know  some  of  our  men,"  she  suggested. 

"Business  acquaintances,  yes,"  he  said.  "Yet  they 
take  care  that  I  shall  remain  a  business  acquaint- 
ance merely.  No,  I  must  reach  the  men  through 
the  women." 

"And  the  women ? "  she  asked.  "How  will  you  reach 
them?    Mrs.  Fenno,  for  instance,  knows  only  one  kind; 


90  The  Baffief 

she  is  iron  against  innovation.     How  will  you  get  on 
her  list,  or  Mrs.  Watson's,  or  Mrs.  Branderson's  ? " 

He  did  not  answer.  She  saw  that  he  was  biting  on 
the  problem,  and  that  it  did  not  please  him.  She  made 
a  positive  statement. 

"No.     It  is  the  men  you  must  rely  on." 

And  he,  weighing  the  facts,  believed  her,  though  it 
went  against  his  former  notions.  The  women — this 
day  he  had  first  seen  them  at  close  quarters,  and  had 
felt  them  to  be  formidable  creatures.  The  severe 
majesty  of  Mrs.  Fenno — how  could  he  impress  it  ?  And 
Mrs.  Branderson  had,  beneath  the  good  humour  of  her 
reception  of  him,  the  skill  to  chat  easily,  and  then  to 
turn  her  back  without  excuse.  He  bit  his  mustache — 
the  women ! 

She  was  watching  him  with  a  half -smile.  "Do  you 
not  agree?" 

"  But  which  men,  then  ? "  he  inquired. 

"Have  you  no  influence  over  a  single  one?" 

"There  is  young  Mather,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 

Her  manner  changed;  she  drew  a  little  more  within 
herself,  and  he  noted  the  difference  in  her  tone  as  she 
asked:     "You  have  some  connection  with  him?" 

"None,"  he  said.     "But  I  can  help  him." 

"How?" 

"He  is  out  of  work,"  Ellis  explained.  "He  will  be 
fretting  his  heart  out  for  something  to  do.  I  could 
offer  him  some  position." 

"Do!"  she  said.  "He  is  right  here.— George ! "  she 
called. 


CHAPTER  III 
Sets  the  Ball  to  Rolling 

No  young  man  can  bear  to  sit  down  idly  under  mis- 
fortune; but  though  the  chief  results  of  Mather's  work 
were  lost  to  him,  and  his  great  plans — his  subway — 
swept  away,  and  though  his  defeat  rankled,  he  had  not 
suspected  personal  feeling  in  Ellis's  action.  The  pro- 
moter had  merely  stretched  out  his  hand  and  taken, 
repudiating  the  pledges  of  those  who  spoke  in  his 
name. 

Therefore,  in  spite  of  the  little  shock  which  Mather 
felt  when  he  saw  Ellis  with  Judith,  he  came  forward 
and  greeted  politely.  It  was  a  chance,  of  course,  to 
"get  back" ;  it  would  have  been  easy  to  express  surprise 
at  the  promoter's  presence,  and  to  ask  how  he  liked 
the  club  now  that  he  really  was  there.  Mather  felt  the 
temptation,  but  there  was  too  much  behind  his  relations 
with  Ellis  for  the  younger  man  to  be  rude,  and  he 
presently  found  himself  saying:  "I  don't  suppose  you 
play  golf,  Mr.  Ellis?" 

"No,"  Ellis  answered.  This  was  the  first  man  who 
had  greeted  him  freely  that  day,  and  yet  the  one  who 
most  might  feel  resentment.  While  his  manner 
showed  that  he  was  about  to  speak  again,  Ellis  looked 
the  other  over  with  a  smile  which  concealed  delibera- 
tion. It  was  not  weakness  that  made  Mather  mild, 
in  spite  of  Mrs.  Harmon's  belief,  to  which  she  clung  the 
more  because  the  Judge  rejected  it.  "I  knew  his 
father,"  her  husband  had  told  her.     "They  are  bulldogs 

21 


22  The  Bamet 

in  that  stock,*"  Ellis  took  much  the  same  view;  once, 
at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  he  had  encountered 
Mather's  father,  and  had  found  him  a  bulldog  indeed. 
The  son  seemed  the  same  in  so  many  respects  that  Ellis 
wondered  if  he  had  thought  quite  long  enough  in  seizing 
this  morning's  opportunity.  He  knew  well  that  Mather 
would  be  stronger  when  next  he  entered  the  arena; 
besides,  the  reform  politicians,  those  bees  who  buzzed 
continually  and  occasionally  stung,  had  been  after 
the  young  man,  who,  with  the  leisure  to  enter  politics, 
might  be  formidable.  Thus  Ellis,  hesitating,  ran  over 
the  whole  subject  in  his  mind ;  and  then,  as  he  knew  how 
to  do,  plunged  at  his  object. 

"Mr.  Mather,  I  am  sorry  for  what  happened  this 
morning." 

"Fortune  of  war,"  returned  the  other. 

The  young  man  certainly  had  a  right  to  be  bitter  if  he 
chose,  judging,  at  least,  by  the  usual  conduct  of  victims. 
Mather's  peculiarity  in  this  did  not  escape  Ellis,  who 
spoke  again  with  some  hope  of  forgiveness.  "I  trust 
that  you  and  I  may  some  day  work  together." 

"I  scarcely  expect  it,"  was  the  answer. 

"Don't  say  that."  Ellis  was  not  sure  what  tone  to 
adopt,  but  did  his  best.  "This  is  not  the  place  to 
speak  of  it,  perhaps,  but  there  is  surely  something  I 
can  do  for  you." 

"Now  that  you  have  nothing  to  do,  you  know,"  said 
Judith. 

Mather  turned  to  her ;  he  saw  how  she  had  put  herself 
on  Ellis's  side ;  how  her  interest  in  this  offer  was  due  to 
Ellis,  not  to  himself.  And  the  reminder  of  his  defeat 
was  most  unwelcome. 

"Since  this  morning,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  offered 
three  positions." 

"Oh!"  cried  Judith.     The  involuntary  note  of  sur- 


Sets  the  Ball  to  Rolling:  23 

prise  showed  how  she  had  underrated  him,  and  Mather 
bit  his  Up. 

ElUs  spoke.  "If  you  will  take  a  position  on  the 
street-railro  ad ' ' 

"Nothing  subordinate  there!"  cut  in  Mather  very 
positively. 

"Then,"  said  Ellis,  "if  you  care  to  be  the  head  of  the 
water  company " 

"Oh!"  Judith  exclaimed  before  Ellis  had  completed 
his  offer.     "  Such  an  opportunity  ! " 

Mather  himself  looked  at  Ellis  in  surprise.  It  was 
an  opening  which,  coming  from  any  other  source,  he 
would  have  accepted  eagerly,  as  a  task  in  which  he 
could  give  free  play  to  all  his  powers.  Did  Ellis  really 
mean  it  ?  But  the  promoter,  having  swiftly  asked  him- 
self the  same  question,  was  sure  of  his  own  wisdom. 
The  place  needed  a  man:  here  was  one.  Besides,  Ellis 
would  have  given  much  to  tie  Mather  to  him. 

"I  mean  it,"  he  said  positively. 

"You  must  accept,"  added  Judith. 

It  was  too  much  for  Mather  to  bear.  His  defeat  by 
Ellis  and  his  loss  of  Judith — both  of  these  he  could 
sustain  as  separate  calamities.  But  when  he  saw  her 
thus  siding  with  his  victor,  Mather  forgot  himself,  forgot 
that  Ellis  was  not  a  man  to  defy  lightly,  and  spoke  the 
impolitic  truth. 

"I  could  not  work  with  Mr.  Ellis  under  any  circum- 
stances !" 

"George  !"  cried  Judith  hotly. 

Then  there  was  silence  as  the  men  looked  at  each 
other.  Had  Judith  been  the  woman  that  in  her  weaker 
moments  she  was  pleased  to  think  herself,  she  would 
have  studied  the  two.  But  she  was  neither  cool  nor 
impartial;  she  had  put  her  feelings  on  Ellis's  side,  and 
looked  at  Mather  with  indignation.     She  missed,  there- 


24  The  Barrier 

fore,  the  pose  of  his  head  and  the  fire  of  his  eye.  She 
missed  as  well  the  narrowing  of  Ellis's  eyes,  the  forward 
stretch  of  his  thin  neck — snaky  actions  which  expressed 
his  perfect  self-possession,  and  his  threat.  Neither  of 
them  spoke,  but  Judith  did  as  she  turned  away. 

"You  are  very  rude,"  she  said  coldly.  "Come,  Mr. 
Ellis,  let  us  walk  again."  Ellis  followed  her;  Mather 
stood  and  watched  them  walk  away. 

"It  was  shameful  of  him,"  said  Judith  when  she  and 
Ellis  were  out  of  hearing. 

"  He  is  young,"  remarked  the  other.  He  was  watching 
her  now,  as  he  had  watched  Mather,  out  of  narrow  eyes. 
Mather's  words  meant  a  declaration  of  interest  in 
Judith,  confirming  gossip.  She  was  supposed  to  have 
refused  him,  and  yet  she  was  biting  her  lip — would  she 
be  quite  so  moved  if  Mather  had  not  the  power  to 
do  it  ?  Ellis  promised  himself  that  he  would  remember 
this. 

"He  will  know  better  some  day,"  he  said.  "But  at 
least  he  is  out  of  the  question.  Can  you  not  suggest 
some  one  else?" 

"There  is  Mr.  Pease,"  she  answered. 

Pease  and  himself — oil  and  water !  How  little  she 
knew!  and  he  almost  laughed.  But  he  answered 
meditatively:  "He  is  very — set." 

"I  see  my  father  is  coming  for  me,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  ask  you  this,  then,"  he  begged  quickly. 
"May  I  come  to  see  you — at  your  house  ? " 

"I  am  afraid  not — yet,"  she  answered.  She  was  not 
ungracious,  and  continued  with  much  interest:  "But 
Mr.  Ellis,  I  shall  be  so  anxious  to  hear  how  it  all  goes. 
I  am  sorry  I  cannot  help  you  with  the  men,  but  the 
principle  is  [she  thought  of  Mather]  choose  the  weak 
ones,  not  the  strong.  Here  is  my  father.  Father,  this 
is  Mr.  Ellis." 


Sets  the  Ball  to  Rolling;  25 

Colonel  Blanchard  was  affable.  "How  de  do?"  he 
said  breezily.     "Fine  day  for  the  match,  Mr.  Ellis." 

"A  very  fine  day,"  answered  Ellis,  pleased  by  the  way 
in  which  the  Colonel  looked  at  him;  Blanchard  seemed 
interested,  like  his  daughter.  But  Judith  thought  that 
the  conversation  had  best  end  there. 

"The  carriage  has  come ? "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Colonel.  "  Beth  is  in  it,  waiting 
for  us.  You  know  she  goes  out  to  dinner."  He  begged 
Ellis  to  excuse  them,  and  so  carried  his  daughter  away. 

Ellis  looked  after  them;  these  two,  at  least,  had 
treated  him  well.  The  Colonel  had  stared  with  almost 
bourgeois  interest,  as  if  impressible  by  wealth  and 
power.     Ellis  mused  over  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing. 

"The  weak,"  he  said,  repeating  Judith's  words. 
"The  weak,  not  the  strong." 

Then  Mrs.  Harmon  swooped  down  on  him.  "Here 
you  are,"  she  said  petulantly.  "Everybody's  going. 
Let  us  go  too." 


CHAPTER  IV 

An  Understanding 

Mrs.  Harmon  was  very  petulant;  indeed,  her  aspect 
in  one  of  lower  station  would  have  been  deemed  sulky. 
Reviewing  the  afternoon,  she  was  convinced  that  to 
have  brought  Ellis  there  was  a  great  mistake.  Why 
should  she  take  up  with  him,  anyway  ?  He  could  give 
her  nothing  but — trinkets ;  the  old  acquaintance  was  not 
so  close  that  she  was  bound  to  help  him.  It  had  been 
condescension  on  her  part;  she  might  as  well  stop  it 
now;  yes,  she  might  as  well. 

Yet  she  thought  with  some  uneasiness  of  those 
trinkets.  To  accept  them  had  not  bound  her  to  him, 
had  it  ?  Their  money  value  was  nothing  to  him.  She 
could  break  from  him  gradually — that  would  be  simple 
enough — and  she  could  make  a  beginning  on  the  drive 
home,  for  silence  could  show  her  feelings. 

Ellis  understood  her  after  one  glance,  which  expressed 
not  only  his  impatience  with  her  instability,  but  also  a 
sudden  new  repulsion.  The  afternoon  had  opened  his 
eyes  to  what  the  finer  women  were.  How  could  he  have 
supposed  that  Mrs.  Harmon  was  really  in  the  inner 
circle  ?  How  she  contrasted  with  Judith  !  She  seemed 
so  fiat  beside  the  girl;  she  was  his  own  kind,  while 
Judith  was  better.  He  wished  that  he  might  drop  the 
woman  and  pin  his  hopes  to  the  girl. 

But  he  could  not  spare  Mrs.  Harmon,  and  he  had  no 
fear  that  she  would  drop  him,  for  he  knew  all  her 
weaknesses.     She  was   ambitious  to  a  certain  degree, 

26 


An  Understanding:  37 

but  after  that,  lazy;  she  was  fond  of  comfort,  fond  of — 
trinkets,  with  a  healthy  indifference  to  ways  and  means. 
In  fact,  although  Ellis  did  not  so  phrase  it,  there  was  a 
barbaric  strain  in  her,  a  yearning  for  flesh-pots  and 
show,  in  which  her  husband's  tastes  and  means  did  not 
permit  her  to  indulge  herself.  Ellis  knew  that  he 
could  manage  her. 

"Lydia,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  after- 
noon. It  must  have  been  a  great  bother  to  you.  I'm 
afraid  I  spoiled  your  fun." 

She  could  but  respond.    "Oh,  not  much." 

"Look  here,"  he  went  on.  "You  know  me,  I  think; 
we  understand  each  other  pretty  well.  These  people," 
and  he  waved  his  hand  to  include  the  whole  golf  club, 
"are  not  to  be  too  much  for  us.  Do  you  mind  my 
saying  a  few  words  about  myself  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!"  she  exclaimed  with  involuntary  interest; 
for  he  seldom  spoke  his  thoughts. 

"That  girl,  Miss  Blanchard,"  he  said,  "was  very  good 
to  me." 

"She  was?"  Mrs.  Harmon  could  not  subdue  an 
accent  of  surprise,  but  hastened  to  explain.  "I've 
sometimes  found  her  haughty." 

"I  shan't  forget  you  introduced  me  to  her,"  said 
Ellis.     "I  mean  to  follow  up  my  acquaintance  there." 

"No  girl,"  suggested  Mrs.  Harmon,  "has  much  influ- 
ence.    No  unmarried  woman,  I  mean." 

"But  when  Miss  Blanchard  marries  she  will  have  it 
then?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Harmon  thoughtfully,  and  then 
very  positively:  "Yes,  I  think  she  would  be  a  leader 
of  the  younger  set." 

"I  am  sure  she  would."  Ellis  nodded  confidently. 
Judith  had  faults,  notably  rashness,  but  under  wise 
guidance  she  could  develop  masterly  qualities. 


28  The  Bamct 

"But  why "  began  Mrs.  Harmon  in  some  per- 
plexity. Then  she  caught  sight  of  her  companion's 
expression.  "What !  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you — 
you  would?" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Ellis.     "Is  it  so  very  strange?" 

"You  are  over  forty  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Harmon. 

"Nothing  to  do  with  the  case,"  he  replied  shortly. 

"N-no,"  agreed  Mrs.  Harmon  slowly.  "No,  I  believe 
not — not  with  Judith."  She  looked  at  her  companion 
with  sudden  respect.  "I  believe  you've  hit  upon  it! 
I  didn't  know  you  thought  of  anything  of  the 
kind." 

"I  need  you,  just  the  same,"  said  Ellis.  "You  will 
help  me?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  replied.  She  felt  a  nervous  inclination 
to  giggle.     "It's  a  big  affair." 

"All  the  more  credit  if  you  engineer  it,"  he  answered, 
and  shrewdly,  for  she  felt  stimulated.  If  she  could 
engineer  it !  Then  she  could  plume  herself  in  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Fenno,  and  would  always  have  a  strong  ally  in 
Judith. 

"Yes,"  she  cried  eagerly,  "it  will  mean  a  great 
deal  to — to  everybody  if  it  happens.  Why,  I 
could " 

But  Ellis  would  not  let  her  run  on.  "Do  you  know 
her  well?"  he  interrupted. 

"I  will  know  her  better  soon,"  she  stated. 

"Not  too  quick,"  he  warned,  fearing  that  she  might 
blunder.  "You  know  yourself  that  she  is  not  a  girl 
to  be  hurried.  Tell  me,  now,  what  men  are  there  of  her 
family?" 

"Only  her  father." 

"And  what  sort  of  man  is  he ? " 

Mrs.  Harmon's  vocabulary  was  not  wide.  "Why, 
spreading,"  she  explained.     "Jaunty,  you  know." 


An  Understanding  29 

"And  his  circumstances?" 

"He  is  well  off,"  she  answered.  "Keeps  a  carriage 
and  spends  freely.  There  was  money  in  the  family,  and 
his  wife  had  some  too.  You  know  how  those  old 
fortunes  grow." 

Or  disappear,  thought  Ellis ;  he  had  been  investigat- 
ing the  Colonel's  standing.  "Miss  Blanchard  has  no 
cousins?"  he  asked  aloud.  "No  other  men  attached 
to  her?" 

"Attached  in  one  sense,"  she  replied,  "but  not  con- 
nected." 

"Much  obliged,"  he  said.  "Now,  Lydia,  if  we  stand 
by  each  other " 

Mrs.  Harmon  had  forgotten  her  earlier  thoughts. 
"Of  course  ! "  she  cried.     "Oh,  it  will  be  so  interesting  ! " 

Ellis  added  the  finishing  touch,  abruptly  changing  the 
subject.     "You  have  been  to  Price's  recently?" 

Now  Price  was  the  fashionable  jeweller,  and  few 
women  were  indifferent  to  his  name.  Mrs.  Harmon, 
recollecting  the  cause  of  her  recent  visit  there,  saw  fit 
to  be  coy. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  turning  her  head  away.  "He 
keeps  asking  me  to  come." 

"He's  always  picking  up  pretty  things,"  said  Ellis 
approvingly.  "Did  he  have  anything  special  this 
time?" 

"Something  of  Orsini's,"  replied  Mrs.  Harmon, 
struggling  to  appear  indifferent.  For  they  had  been 
lovely,  those  baroque  pearls  so  gracefully  set  in  dusky 
gold.  Price  had  made  her  try  the  necklace  on,  and  she 
had  sighed  before  the  glass.  "I  wish  he  wouldn't 
pester  me  so,"  she  said  irritably.  "He  knows  I  can't 
afford  them." 

"  He  knows  you  have  taste,"  Ellis  said  warmly.  "  He 
calls  it  a  great  pleasure  to  show  things  to  you." 


JO  The  Barriet 

"I  know,"  she  replied,  moUified.  "I  think  he  means 
to  flatter  me.  But,  Stephen,  it's  getting  late,  and  I 
must  dress  for  the  Fennos'  ball  this  evening." 

"Then,"  responded  Ellis,  "I  will  stop  at  Price's  on 
my  way  down-town." 

"Naughty  !  naughty  ! "  she  answered,  but  she  radiated 
smiles. 

Ellis,  after  he  had  left  Mrs.  Harmon  at  her  door,  went, 
as  he  had  promised,  to  the  establishment  of  the  pushing 
Mr.  Price,  and  asked  for  the  proprietor. 

"Got  anything  to  show  me ? "  Ellis  demanded. 

From  his  safe  the  jeweller  brought  out  a  leather 
case,  and  looked  at  Ellis  impressively  before  open, 
ing  it. 

"Pretty  small,"  commented  ElUs. 

"Ah,  but "  replied    the    other,  and  opened  the 

case.     "Look — Orsini's  make ! " 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  Ellis  said  as  he 
poked  the  jewels  with  his  finger.  "Look  strange  to  me. 
The  fashion,  however  ? " 

"The  very  latest,"  Price  assured  him.  "Trust  me, 
Mr.  ElUs." 

It  was  one  secret  of  Ellis's  success  that  he  knew  where 
to  trust.  He  had  ventured  twice  that  day,  with  women 
at  that,  and  the  thought  of  it  was  to  trouble  him  before 
he  slept.  But  he  could  trust  Price  in  matters  of  taste, 
and  as  to  secrecy,  the  man  was  bound  to  him.  Price 
had  been  in  politics  at  the  time  when  Ellis  was  getting 
"influence"  in  the  city  government;  for  the  jeweller 
those  days  were  past,  but  this  store  and  certain  blocks 
of  stock  were  the  result.  Besides,  he  was  adroit. 
Ellis  gave  the  chains  and  pendants  a  final  push  with  his 
finger. 

"Send  it,  then,"  he  said.  "The  usual  place.  By 
the  way,  how  much  ?    Whew !  some  things  come  dear, 


An  Understanding  31 

don't  they?     But  send  it,  just  the  same,  and  at  once. 
She's  going  out  to  some  affair." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Harmon  wore  "the  very 
latest"  at  her  throat  that  night. 


CHAPTER  V 
Various  Points  of  View 

The  Blanchards'  eqtiipage  was  a  perfect  expression  of 
quiet  respectability,  for  the  carriage  was  sober  in  colour, 
was  drawn  by  a  strong  and  glossy  horse,  and  was  driven 
by  a  coachman  wearing  a  modest  livery  and  a  discon- 
tented countenance.  As  it  drove  away  from  the  golf 
club  the  carriage  held  the  three  members  of  the  family, 
in  front  the  younger  daughter,  Beth,  and  on  the  rear 
seat  the  others:  Judith  erect  and  cheerful,  the  Colonel 
cheerful  also,  but  lounging  in  his  comer  with  the  air  of 
one  who  took  the  world  without  care.  Blanchard  was 
fifty-eight,  military  as  to  voice  and  hair,  for  his  tones 
were  sonorous  and  his  white  whiskers  fierce.  Yet  these 
outward  signs  by  no  means  indicated  his  nature,  and 
his  manner,  though  bluff,  appertained  less  to  military 
life  than  to  the  game  of  poker.  Not  that  the  Colonel 
played  cards ;  moreover,  he  drank  merely  in  moderation, 
swore  simply  to  maintain  his  character,  betrayed  only 
by  the  tint  of  the  left  side  of  his  mustache  that  he  liked 
a  good  cigar,  and  was  extravagant  in  neither  dress  nor 
table.  He  kept  his  carriage,  of  course,  liked  the  best 
wines  at  home  and  at  the  club,  and  in  a  small  way  was 
a  collector  of  curios.  Yet  the  Blanchards,  but  for  the 
brilliance  of  Judith,  were  quiet  people ;  he  was  proud  to 
be  a  quiet  man. 

Dullness  is  often  the  penalty  of  indolence ;  the  Colonel 
was  lazy  and  he  had  small  wit.  Perceiving  that  Judith 
came  away  from  the  tea  stimulated  and  even  excited, 

32 


Varloas  Points  of  View  33 

he  rallied  her  about  her  new  acquaintance.  "An  inter- 
esting man,  hey  ? "  he  asked  for  the  third  time. 

"Yes,"  answered  Judith  absently.  "Father,  what  is 
there  against  Mr.  Ellis?" 

"Only  that  he  is  a  pusher.  He  jars."  Blanchard 
aimed  to  be  tolerant. 

"Isn't  there  more?"  asked  little  Beth. 

The  Colonel,  as  always,  turned  his  eyes  on  her  with 
pleasure.  She  was  dark  and  quiet  and  sweet,  yet  her 
brown  eyes  revealed  a  power  of  examining  questions  for 
their  moral  aspects.  "Nothing  much,"  he  said  indul- 
gently. "You  don't  know  business,  Beth.  He's  beaten 
his  opponents  always,  and  the  beaten  always  squeal,  but 
I  doubt  if  he's  as  black  as  he's  painted." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  stand  up  for  him,  father,"  said 
Judith. 

"He'll  be  looking  for  a  wife  among  us,"  went  on  the 
Colonel  with  vast  shrewdness  and  considerable  delicacy, 
"How  would  he  suit  you,  Judith?" 

"Oh,  father  ! "  Beth  protested.  But  Judith,  with  fire 
in  her  eyes,  answered:  "He's  at  least  a  man.  You 
can't  say  that  of  every  one." 

Her  answer  made  him  turn  toward  her  with  a  soberer 
thought  and  a  new  interest.  His  manner  changed 
from  the  natural  to  the  pompous  as  he  set  forth 
his  views.  "Money  is  almost  the  best  thing  one  can 
have." 

"Father,  dear!"  protested  Beth  again. 

"I  mean,"  he  explained,  again  softening  his  manner, 
"from  a  father's  standpoint.  If  I  could  see  you  two 
girls  married  with  plenty  of  money,  I  could  die  happy." 
But  evidently  the  Colonel  was  in  the  best  of  health,  so 
that  his  words  lacked  impressiveness.  It  was  one  of 
the  misfortunes  of  their  family  life  that  Judith  was  able 
to  perceive  the  incongruity  between  her  father's  Delphic 


34  The  Bafficf 

utterances  and  his  actual  feeUngs,  and  that  the  Colonel 
knew  she  found  him  out. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  Mr.  Ellis's  money,"  she  said  at 
this  point. 

"I  was,"  retorted  the  Colonel.  As  he  was  struggling 
with  a  real  thought,  his  tones  became  a  little  less 
sonorous  and  more  genuine.  "In  sickness  riches  give 
everything.  In  health  there  are  enough  troubles 
without  money  cares.     I  mean  it,  Judith." 

She  took  his  hand  and  caressed  it.  "Forgive  me, 
father!" 

"My  dear — ^my  dear!"  he  responded  cordially. 

So  this,  the  type  of  their  little  jars,  the  sole  disturbers 
of  family  peace,  passed  as  usual,  rapidly  and  completely, 
and  Ellis  was  spoken  of  no  more.  Beth,  with  customary 
adroitness,  came  in  to  shift  the  subject,  and  when  the 
three  descended  at  their  door  none  of  them  shared  the 
coachman's  air  of  gloom. 

He,  however,  detained  the  Colonel  while  the  girls 
went  up  the  steps.  "Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  could  you 
give  me  a  little  of  my  wages  ? " 

"James,"  returned  his  master  with  his  most  military 
air,  "why  will  you  choose  such  inconvenient  times? 
Here  is  all  I  have  with  me."  He  gave  some  money. 
"Twenty   dollars." 

"Yessir,"  replied  the  man,  not  overmuch  relieved. 
"And  the  rest  of  it,  sir?  There's  a  hundred  more 
owing." 

"Not  to-day,"  returned  the  Colonel  with  vexation. 
But  he  was  an  optimist.  Though  at  the  bottom  of  the 
steps  he  muttered  to  himself  something  about  "dis- 
charge," by  the  time  he  reached  the  top  he  was  absorbed 
in  cheerful  contemplation  of  the  vast  resources  which, 
should  Judith  ever  chance  to  marry  Ellis,  would  be  at 
her  disposal. 


Various  Points  of  View  35 

Five  minds  were,  that  evening,  dominated  by  the 
occurrences  of  the  afternoon.  One  was  the  Colonel's, 
still  entertaining  a  dream  which  should  properly  be 
repugnant  to  one  of  his  station.  This  he  recognised, 
but  he  reminded  himself  that  as  a  parent  his  daughter's 
good  should  be  his  care.  Another  mind  was  Mather's, 
disturbed  by  the  jealousy  and  dread  which  the  manliest 
of  lovers  cannot  master.  And  one  was  Mrs.  Harmon's ; 
she,  like  Ellis,  had  learned  much  that  afternoon,  and 
meant  in  future  to  apply  her  knowledge. 

As  that  evening  she  went  to  the  Fennos'  ball  Mrs. 
Harmon  recalled  the  snubs  of  the  afternoon,  and  saw 
how  insecure  her  footing  was  among  these  people. 
Sometimes  she  had  wondered  if  it  were  worth  while,  this 
struggle  to  be  "in" ;  the  life  was  dull,  lacking  all  natural 
excitements;  there  was  no  friendship  possible  with  any 
of  the  blue-bloods.  Yet  she  hated  to  kuckle  to  them; 
if  she  could  engineer  this  match  between  Judith  and 

Ellis,  then !     And  Mrs.  Harmon,  with  the  hope  of 

coming  triumph,  felt  fully  equal  to  meeting  Mrs.  Fenno 
on  her  own  ground.  Mrs.  Harmon  wore  Ellis's  jewels 
on  her  breast,  she  had  his  brain  to  back  her,  she  believed 
she  knew  Judith's  weaknesses,  and  she  saw  before  her 
a  bright  future. 

Judith  Blanchard  made  at  that  ball  a  searching 
review  of  her  world,  dominated  as  she  still  was  by  the 
thoughts  which  Ellis  aroused.  For  he,  the  strongest 
personality  in  the  city,  had  done  more  than  to  excite 
her  curiosity:  with  his  deference  to  her  opinion  and  his 
appeal  for  her  help  he  had  succeeded — as  Mather  never — 
in  wakening  her  sympathy.  Questioning  why  fashion 
should  reject  him,  stirred  to  a  new  comparison  of  reality 
with  sham,  she  looked  keenly  about  her  at  the  ball. 
She  was  in  one  of  the  inner  sanctuaries,  where  society 
bowed  down  and  worshiped  itself.     Judith  sniffed  the 


36  The  Barrier 

incense,  listened  to  the  chants,  and  weighed  the  words  of 
officiating  priests  and  priestesses.  She  found  every- 
thing to  deHght  the  eye,  except  the  idols;  everything 
to  charm  the  senses,  except  sense. 

In  the  ball-room  there  was  dancing,  pagan  rites  to 
what  purpose?  This  usually  unrhythmic  swaying, 
skipping,  sliding,  seemed  a  profitless  way  to  pass  the 
hours  when  workers  were  in  bed.  Girls  more  or  less 
innocent  danced  with  men  more  or  less  roue;  this  pro- 
cedure, indefinitely  continued,  gave  occasion  for  jeal- 
ousies among  the  girls  and  selfish  scheming  among  the 
men.  In  other  rooms  the  older  people  played  cards, 
intent  at  bridge  or  whist  upon  their  stakes.  Near  the 
buffet  thronged  bachelors  old  or  young,  with  not  a 
few  married  men,  busied  in  acquiring  an  agreeable 
exhilaration.  Their  occupation  was  no  worse  than  the 
passionate  gambling  of  the  old  women.  And  the  house 
in  which  all  this  went  on  was  beautifully  classic  in  design 
and  furnishings.  Beside  that  quiet  elegance,  how 
vacant  was  the  chatter !  As  Judith  thought  thus, 
slowly  the  spirit  of  revolt  came  to  her. 

The  master  of  the  house  approached  her;  he  was 
leonine,  massive,  somewhat  lame  from  rheumatism. 
She  saw  him,  as  he  came,  speaking  among  his  guests; 
his  smile  was  cynical.  It  lighted  upon  her  father,  and 
the  Colonel,  his  character  somehow  exposed  by  that 
smile,  seemed  shallow.  It  turned  to  the  men  at  the 
sideboard,  and  their  interests  seemed  less  than  the 
froth  in  their  glasses.  The  smile  turned  on  Judith,  and 
she  felt  called  to  give  an  account  of  herself. 

But  he  merely  asked  her:  "Where  is  Beth?" 

"Gone  with  Miss  Pease  to  a  meeting  of  the  Charity 
Board,"  Judith  answered. 

Mr.  Fenno  grunted,  looking  at  her  sidewise.  "Better 
employed  than  we ! " 


Variotts  Points  of  View  37 

Then  he  rambled  away,  neither  knowing  nor  caring 
what  encouragement  he  had  given  to  her  mood.  He 
missed  Beth,  for  his  rheumatism  was  sharp,  the  company- 
inane,  and  Beth  was  almost  the  only  person  who  could 
make  him  contented  with  himself.  But  Judith  felt  the 
reflection  of  his  cynicism  and  was  stirred  still  deeper. 
What  was  there  to  interest  her  here? 

Among  all  the  women  Mrs.  Harmon  alone  was  in 
disaccord.  No  dressmaker  could  conceal  her  natural 
style;  the  eye  and  carriage  of  the  Judge's  wife  were 
bolder  than  those  of  the  women  about  her.  A  free 
humour  attracted  some  of  the  men ;  the  women  avoided 
her,  the  more  delicate  from  instinct,  the  stronger  with 
a  frank  dislike.  This  antipathy  Judith  had  often  felt 
and  expressed,  yet  to-night  she  reviewed  and  rejected 
it.  Mrs.  Harmon  belonged  to  the  class  of  the  rising 
Americans;  in  that  class  Judith  felt  interest,  questioning 
if  its  vigour  and  freshness  should  not  outweigh  external 
faults.  She  went  to  Mrs.  Harmon  and  began  to  talk 
with  her. 

She  tried  to  find,  within  the  exterior,  the  solid  quali- 
ties of  the  middle  class.  But  thought  and  purpose 
seemed  lacking;  in  Mrs.  Harmon  the  vulgarity  lay 
deeper  than  the  surface.  She  was  frivolous;  she  liked 
the  sparkle  and  the  show,  the  wine,  the  dancing,  and  the 
gaiety.  Promising  herself  an  intimacy  with  Judith, 
she  talked  willingly,  but  it  was  only  upon  the  subject  of 
Ellis  that  she  became  interesting. 

She  told  Judith  much  about  him.  He  had  always 
been  persevering  and  ambitious;  he  had  left  his  town 
as  a  boy  because  even  then  he  found  it  too  little. 
Ellis  had  begun  small;  now  he  was  big.  Some  day, 
said  Mrs  Harmon  significantly,  people  would  recognise 
him. 

Why  not,  thought  Judith  as  she  looked  about  her, 


38  The  Barricf 

admit  Ellis  here  ?  What  was  an  aristocracy  for  but  to 
reward  success?  How  could  it  remain  sound  but  by 
the  infusion  of  new  blood?  Ellis  had  proved  his 
quality  by  the  things  he  had  done;  he  had  beaten 
Mather;  yet  these  halls  which  to  Mather  were  open 
were  closed  to  Ellis.  It  was  unfair  to  refuse  to  recognise 
him !  What  were  the  abilities  of  these  men  here, 
compared  with  his? 

Thus  Judith,  tolerant  in  her  broad  Americanism, 
admiring  the  forces  which  to-day  are  accomplishing 
such  marvellous  results,  thought  of  her  world.  At 
the  same  time  Ellis  also  was  thinking  of  it.  His  was  the 
fifth  mind  moved  by  that  afternoon's  occurrence,  but 
moved  the  most  deeply  of  them  all.  On  leaving  Judith 
first,  like  a  man  smitten  by  a  slender  blade  he  had 
spoken,  acted,  thought  as  before.  Then  the  inward 
bleeding  began,  and  the  pain.  He  had  gone  away  from 
her  thinking  of  her  as  something  to  be  won,  but  no  more 
distant,  no  less  a  commodity,  than  a  public  franchise  or 
a  seat  in  the  legislature.  Thus  he  had  discussed  her 
with  Mrs.  Harmon,  but  before  night  his  thought  of  the 
girl  had  changed.  Her  refinement  was  new  to  him; 
he  recalled  her  in  imagination  and  dwelt  on  her  features 
and  her  voice.  Yet,  equally  with  her  delicacy,  her 
spirit  charmed  him  with  its  frankness  and  its  admiration 
of  great  things.  There  was  a  subtle  flattery  in  her 
interest  in  him ;  he  had  never  thought  of  himself  as  she 
did ;  he  saw  himself  magnified  in  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to 
refine  the  baseness  from  his  employments  and  purposes. 
She  gave  him  a  new  idea  of  himself,  and  held  before  him 
vague  new  aims. 

He  had  entertained  some  of  his  henchmen  that  even- 
ing at  his  table,  had  tasted  while  they  ate,  sipped  while 
they  drank,  listened  while  they  spoke  of  politics.  He 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  like  the  Sphinx  after  which 


Variotjs  Points  of  View  39 

he  was  familiarly  called,  indifferent  to  their  uncouth- 
ness  and  their  little  thoughts;  then  at  the  end  he  sud- 
denly called  them  into  executive  session,  asked  a  few 
keen  questions,  gave  some  brief  directions,  and  dis- 
missed them.  Thus  he  had  always  ruled  them,  from 
outside,  commanding  respect  by  his  decision,  almost 
awe  by  his  silence.  Though  his  purposes  were  not 
clear,  the  men  went  to  obey  him,  having  learned  to  sup- 
port him  blindly,  for  he  never  failed.  Such  was  Ellis 
among  his  subordinates,  the  "old  man"  of  whom  they 
never  asked  questions,  with  whom  they  never  attempted 
familiarity.  They  praised  him  as  they  went,  proud  of 
their  connection  with  him.  But  he  put  out  the  lights 
as  soon  as  the  men  were  gone,  and  sat  at  the  window, 
looking  at  Fenno's  house. 

There  was  the  temporary  focus  of  social  Ufe;  he  saw 
the  lights;  had  he  opened  his  window  he  might  have 
heard  the  music.  Carriages  drove  up,  people  entered 
the  house,  and  on  the  curtains  of  the  ball-room  he  saw 
moving  shadows.  In  that  house  were  what  he  wanted — 
recognition,  a  new  life,  Judith,  But  she  was  guarded 
by  the  powers  of  a  whole  order,  was  infinitely  remote. 

His  talk  with  Judith  had  doubled  his  determination 
to  enter  the  upper  world,  and  yet  changed  his  regard 
for  it.  It  became  Judith's  world,  seeming  to-night 
like  a  house  which  she  inhabited,  more  precious  by  her 
presence.  And  because  she  was  so  much  finer  than  he 
had  imagined  the  women  of  her  class,  her  sphere  looked 
farther  away,  and  his  determination  to  enter  it  was 
tempered  by  the  fear  of  failure. 

As  he  took  the  first  step  in  his  new  venture,  he  had 
been  half  ashamed  of  his  desire  to  "better  himself," 
quite  unable  to  justify  himself  by  appeal  to  the  natural 
American  wish  to  obtain  the  highest  indorsement  of 
his  community.     So  long  as  there  had  been  anything 


4©  The  Bartief 

left  for  him  to  win,  he  had  turned  instinctively  toward 
it.  Now  he  suddenly  realised  that  he  faced  his  greatest 
fight.  He  had  often  said  that  he  liked  fighting;  he  had 
struggled  for  many  years  with  all  the  power  of  nerve  and 
mind.  To-night  his  brain  seemed  weary,  bruised  and 
scarred  as  a  body  might  be.  Watching  the  house  where 
Judith  was,  contemplating  her  image,  a  softness  came 
over  Ellis,  new  to  him;  resolution  became  a  wish,  and 
then  turned  to  yearning.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he 
roused  himself,  surprise  mingling  with  his  contempt  of 
the  unrecognised  sensation.  He  was  in  for  it  now,  he 
told  himself  almost  roughly;  the  game  was  worth  the 
candle,  and  he  would  see  it  through. 


CHAPTER  VI 
Introducing  an  Eccentric 

Mr.  Peveril  Pease  had  finished  his  week's  work, 
and  feeling  no  obligation  to  attend  the  golf  club  tea, 
went  home  and  settled  himself  in  his  snuggery  among 
his  books.  When  his  feet  were  once  in  slippers,  his 
velvet  jacket  was  on,  and  he  held  a  well-marked  volume 
in  his  hand,  he  felt  he  had  more  true  comfort  than  all 
the  golf  clubs  in  the  world  could  give.  So  thorough 
was  his  satisfaction  that  rather  than  read  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  well-being.  Gazing 
about  the  room,  Mr.  Pease  permitted  himself  a  brief 
retrospection  of  his  career. 

Few  men  in  the  town  could  with  so  much  right  com- 
pliment themselves.  He  had  begun  life  with  nothing 
but  ancestral  debts  and  encumbered  property,  and  now 
he  was  nearly  as  rich  as  Ellis,  who  had  started  with  the 
traditional  dollar  in  his  pocket.  Pease's  credit  was 
firm  as  a  rock;  the  stock  of  his  bank  was  quoted — no, 
it  was  hoarded.  The  widow,  the  orphan,  the  struggling 
clerks  who  had  their  money  in  Pease's  hands  could 
sleep  at  ease,  and  the  respect  in  which  he  was  held  by 
the  business  men  of  the  city — ^but  he  wasn't  thinking 
of  that. 

No,  this  little  house  was  his  thought,  and  this  room, 
and  that  array  of  books.  He  had  been  thirteen  years 
of  age  when  his  grandfather  died,  and  within  the  month 
he  had  refused  the  trustees  his  permission  to  sell  a  foot 
of  the  real  estate.     Judge  Harmon  never  tired  of  telling 

41 


43  The  Barrier 

of  the  visit  of  the  boy,  swelling  with  rage  and  resolu- 
tion. "Cynthia  may  be  willing,  but  grandfather  never 
would  sell,  and  I  won't  have  it !"  he  had  declared,  and 
so  strong  was  the  lad's  feeling  that  the  trustees,  divided 
in  opinion,  had  yielded  to  him,  backing  the  debts  of  the 
estate  with  their  own  credit.  At  eighteen  he  was  prac- 
tically their  adviser  and  his  own  trustee;  at  twenty  he 
had  redeemed  the  homestead  with  his  earnings;  at 
twenty-five  he  had  sold  a  single  lot  of  the  down-town 
property  for  what  the  entire  estate  would  not  have 
brought  twelve  years  before.  So  much  for  determina- 
tion and  a  long  head. 

Fifteen  years  more  had  passed,  and  still  his  life  had 
not  made  him  hard  nor  calculating.  When  he  left  his 
office  he  left  his  business;  he  went  "home,"  to  the  house 
in  which  he  was  born.  The  little  shingled  building,  so 
quaint,  had  been  in  the  family  for  six  generations;  a 
Percivai  Pease  founded  it,  a  Pembroke  Pease  finished 
it,  a  Peveril  Pease  owned  it  now.  It  had  never  been 
rebuilt;  the  wainscot  was  still  the  same,  the  floors 
sagged,  the  stairs  were  queer,  the  ceilings  low.  It  cor- 
responded the  least  in  the  world  with  his  riches  and  his 
great  interests.  But  Pease  had  the  heart  of  a  boy  and 
the  affections  of  a  woman.  The  house  was  his  paradise, 
the  room  his  bower,  the  books  his  especial  delight.  All 
his  spare  time  he  spent  among  them,  giving  himself  to 
* '  mental  improvement . ' ' 

Many  people  thought  him  odd;  some  called  him 
"poor  Mr.  Pease,"  with  such  pity  as  is  given  to  the 
struggling  artist  or  the  ambitious  novelist,  for  Pease 
had  never  been  even  to  the  high-school,  and  it  seemed 
foolish  for  him  to  try  to  cultivate  his  mind.  They  did 
not  consider  that  the  grace  of  humility  was  not  denied 
him,  with  just  a  touch  of  that  saving  quality,  humour. 
He  knew  himself  fairly  well,  he  guarded  himself  sue- 


Intfod«cing;  an  Eccentric  43 

cessfuUy,  only  one  person  really  knew  his  heart,  and  for 
the  opinion  of  the  rest  he  had  a  smile.  Let  them  laugh 
or  pity,  they  had  nothing  so  fine  as  he,  they  were  not 
so  happy  as  he,  and  his  kind  of  a  fool  was  not  the  worst. 

And  so  we  must  acknowledge  that  he  was  thoroughly 
complacent.  None  of  Judith  Blanchard's  discontent 
stirred  him,  none  of  Mather's  anger  at  the  world,  and 
none  of  Ellis's  desire  to  advance.  This  little  room 
gave  him  all  that  he  wanted:  intellectual  improvement, 
the  feeling  of  progress,  mental  satisfaction.  Pease 
went  beyond  cherishing  an  ideal  of  happiness ;  he  beheved 
that  he  was  happy,  and  that  no  one  could  take  his 
happiness  from  him. 

And  thinking  so  at  this  minute,  his  eye  rested  fondly 
on  a  motto  on  the  wall. 

It  was  from  Goethe;  it  was  lettered  in  old  German 
characters,  framed  in  passe-partout,  and  hung  above  the 
mantel.  Pease  had  dug  it  out  of  "Faust " ;  it  embodied 
so  completely  his  notion  of  existence  that  he  resolved 
to  keep  it  before  him  always.  No  mere  translation 
could  do  it  justice;  "Gray,  dear  friend,  is  all  theory,  and 
green  the  golden  tree  of  life" — that  was  too  tame.  No; 
the  sonorous  German  could  best  express  it: 

"  Grau,  theurer  Freund,  ist  aller  Theorie, 
Und  Gruen  des  Lebens  goldner  Bauin." 

Pease  whispered  the  words  to  himself.  Gray  indeed 
were  the  lives  of  all  others ;  he  alone  dwelt  beneath  life's 
green  tree  and  ate  its  golden  fruit.  This  house,  this 
room,  these  books — ah.  Paradise ! 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.     "Peveril?" 

"Yes,  Cynthia." 

"Don't  forget,  little  Miss  Blanchard  is  coming  to 
dinner." 

"No,  Cynthia." 


44^  The  Bamet 

She  was  not  requesting  him  to  "dress."  He  always 
did.  She  was  not  asking  him  to  be  on  time;  he  always 
was.  Being  on  the  safe  side  of  the  door,  however,  his 
cousin  meant  to  remind  him  of  her  hardihood  in  inviting 
to  his  table  some  one  young  and  pretty. 

Not,  Miss  Cynthia  sighed,  that  it  would  make  any 
difference  to  him.  When  her  visitor  arrived  a  little 
early,  and  sat  chatting  in  the  parlour.  Miss  Pease  re- 
flected that  Peveril,  upstairs,  was  dressing  no  more 
carefully  for  this  charming  girl  than  he  would  have  done 
for  old  Mrs.  Brown.  Charming — but  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  real,  the  true,  the  living  best ! 

Thus  we  may  briefly  record  that  Miss  Cynthia  Pease, 
who  was  the  one  person  that  understood  her  cousin,  was 
not  wholly  in  sympathy  with  his  pursuits.  Not  that 
she  would  have  acknowledged  it  to  him,  nor  to 
anyone  else,  not  even  to  "little  Miss  Blanchard," 
Judith's  sister  Beth,  who  was  questioning  her  in  a 
spirit  of  fun. 

"I'm  so  afraid  of  dining  with  your  cousin!"  Beth 
exclaimed. 

"No,  you're  not !"  contradicted  Miss  Cynthia  grimly. 

"If  I  should  make  some  slip  in  statement,  or  spot  the 
table-cloth !     He  is  so  accurate,  they  all  say." 

"You  may  depend  on  him  to  be  polite  under  all 
circumstances,"  responded  Miss  Cynthia,  glaring. 

"But  I  should  know  what  he  would  think,"  persisted 
the  young  lady. 

Miss  Cynthia  advanced  to  fury,  scarcely  repressed. 
"No,  you  wouldn't!"  she  denied  emphatically.  "I 
won't  have  you  laugh  at  him." 

"Why,  you  laugh  at  him  yourself,"  said  Beth.  "You 
know  you  do." 

"And  if  I  do?"  retorted  Miss  Pease.  "Let  me  tell 
you  he's  the  dearest,  kindest  man  that  ever " 


Introducing  an  Eccentric  45 

"Why,  Miss  Cynthia,"  cried  the  other,  "don't  I 
know?" 

"Nobody  knows,"  was  the  response. 

Now  all  grades  of  opposition,  from  caustic  irony  to 
smothered  denunciation,  were  habitual  in  Miss  Pease's 
manner,  but  as  she  said  "Nobody  knows,"  lo !  there 
were  tears  in  her  voice,  if  not  in  her  eyes. 

"Miss  Cynthia!"  cried  Beth. 

Miss  Pease  was  gaunt  and  grewsome,  so  that  her 
manner  fitted  her  perfectly,  but  now  as  she  sat  winking 
her  eyes  and  twisting  her  face  she  became  pathetic. 
The  girl  rose  quickly  and  came  to  her  side. 

"  Have  I  hurt  you  ? "  she  inquired  anxiously. 

"No,  child,  no,"  answered  Miss  Pease,  recovering 
herself.  "You  didn't  know  what  a  sentimental  old  fool 
I  am,  did  you?  There,  sit  down  again.  You  see," 
(she  hesitated  before  committing  herself  further)  "I  was 
thinking,  just  before  you  came,  of  what  Peveril  has  been 
to  me.     Your  talk  roused  me  again." 

"He  has  done  a  great  deal  for  you ? "  asked  Beth  with 
sympathy. 

"Everything  in  the  world!"  answered  Miss  Cynthia 
warmly,  not  having  resumed  her  manner.  "Since  our 
grandfather  died  Peveril  has  been  my  protector,  though 
he  is  two  years  younger.  You  know  we  were  very  poor 
at  first." 

"Very  poor?" 

"We  had  nothing  but  debts,"  stated  Miss  Cynthia. 
"We  lived  in  boarding-houses  for  seven  years  before 
Peveril  could  buy  the  homestead  and  get  the  strangers 
out  of  it.  It  was  a  proud  day  when  he  brought  me 
here,  and  told  me  this  was  mine  to  live  in  until  the  end 
of  my  life.  And  yet  for  two  years  more  I  went  daily  to 
my  work — I  was  in  Benjamin's  great  dry-goods  store, 
my  dear — until  when  they  asked  me  to  be  the  head  of 


46  The  Bafticf 

the  linen  department  Peveril  said  I  should  work  no  more, 
and  insisted  on  my  staying  at  home." 

"I  never  heard  of  that,"  cried  Beth.  "That  you  were 
ever  in  Benjamin's!" 

"And  a  very  good  saleswoman  I  was,"  said  Miss 
Cynthia.  "But  after  that  the  money  began  to  come 
in  to  us,  and  Peveril  sold  the  land  where  the  Security 
Building  now  is.  I  have  not  done  a  piece  of  work  since 
then,  except  for  Peveril  or  for  charity.  I  am  a  rich 
woman,  my  dear." 

"But  you  do  so  much  for  charity!"  exclaimed  Beth 
with  enthusiasm. 

When  it  came  to  praise,  Miss  Pease  became  grim  at 
once.  "I've  got  to  keep  busy  with  something,"  she 
snapped. 

"But  tell  me  more,"  begged  Beth. 

"There  is  nothing  more,"  declared  Miss  Cynthia. 
"And  now  I  hear  him  coming,  five  minutes  before  the 
hour,  just  as  he  always  does.  Don't  be  afraid  of  him; 
he  has  the  softest  heart  in  the  world,  as  you  ought  to 
discover,  since  you  had  the  skill  to  find  mine." 

Beth  had  only  the  time  to  squeeze  her  friend's  hand 
as  the  two  stood  up  together.  She  had  discovered  Miss 
Pease's  heart;  it  was  an  unconscious  specialty  of  Beth's 
to  find  the  weak  points  in  the  armour  of  forbidding 
persons,  and  she  had  on  her  list  of  friends  more  of  the 
lonely  and  unknown  than  had  many  a  worker  in  organ- 
ised charity.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  worker  in  her  own 
special  field,  the  well-to-do,  bringing  them  the  sympathy 
and  affection  which  they  needed  as  much  as  do  the  poor. 
She  had  neither  shrewdness  nor  experience;  what  she 
did  was  quite  unconscious,  but  her  value  was  uniqua 
Mr.  William  Fenno,  who  had  no  love  for  his  wife's 
pleasures  and  whose  daughters  took  after  their  mother, 
loved  to  have  the  girl  with  him.     Judge  Harmon,  not 


Introducing^  an  Eccentric  47 

quite  at  home  by  his  own  gas-log,  felt  more  comfortable 
if  Beth  were  spending  the  evening  with  him — for  she 
made  no  pretense  of  coming  to  see  his  wife.  Quite  un- 
consciously, a  similar  bond  had  been  growing  up  between 
Beth  and  Miss  Pease,  and  took  open  recognition  on  that 
day  when  Miss  Cynthia,  allowing  her  eyes  to  be  pleased 
by  the  girl's  freshness,  blurted  her  feeling  and  said:  "I 
like  you.     You  are  so  unlike  your  sister." 

But  now  Mr.  Pease  entered  the  room,  and  stood  bowing 
while  his  cousin  repeated  the  formula:  "Peveril,  here 
is  Miss  EHzabeth  Blanchard.  Beth,  you  remember  my 
cousin,  Mr.  Peveril  Pease?" 

Beth  thought  he  was  "funny,"  meaning  he  was 
peculiar.  He  was  short  and  rotund,  he  was  immaculate 
and  formal.  His  eyes  met  hers  soberly,  as  if  he  had 
little  of  his  cousin's  wit,  however  much  less  savage. 
Talk  opened  with  the  golf  club  tea,  and  before  the 
subject  was  exhausted  he  led  the  conversation  dexter- 
ously to  the  weather.  Dinner  was  announced  while  the 
beauty  of  the  spring  was  yet  under  discussion,  and  at 
table,  for  a  while,  Beth  was  still  repeating  to  herself  that 
he  was  a  "funny"  little  man. 

Curiously,  Pease  was  in  an  entirely  new  situation. 
Never  had  he  been  so  placed  that  he  must  give  an  hour's 
undivided  attention  to  a  girl.  He  had  never  learned 
that  girls  have  individuality;  he  avoided  them  as  a  rule, 
and  at  dinners  there  was  always  one  at  his  left  hand  to 
relieve  the  other  at  his  right,  so  that  he  never  spoke  to 
either  of  them  long.  Besides,  not  being  regarded  as  a 
marrying  man,  Pease  was  invariably  given  the  "sticks" 
to  entertain.  Girls  had  been  to  him,  therefore,  un- 
developed creatures,  displaying  similar  characteristics, 
being  usually  unacquainted  with  serious  topics,  and 
(quite  as  usually)  devoid  of  personal  attractions.  Beth 
Blanchard,  however,  was  something  different.     Without 


48  The  B&ttiet 

dwelling  on  her  charms,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  she  was 
pretty;  and  without  entering  upon  her  mental  acquire- 
ments, let  us  believe  that  she  knew  what  was  going  on. 
She  was  quite  used,  moreover,  to  the  society  of  older 
persons,  and  could  meet  Pease  on  many  grounds, 
although  it  happened  that  the  subject  chosen  was 
Europe. 

"You  have  been  there?"  asked  Pease  quickly  when 
Germany  was  mentioned. 

"We  spent  some  time  there,"  Beth  replied. 

"Of  course  you  have  seen  Weimar,  then,"  Pease 
assumed.     He  happened  to  be  right. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  quite  as  if  Weimar  were 
still  a  focus  of  travel.  "We  spent  a  month  there; 
mamma  was  quite  ill.  You  know  " — and  here  she  ad- 
dressed Miss  Cynthia — "that  she  died  over  there,  and 
then  we  came  home." 

Mr.  Pease,  in  conjunction  with  his  cousin,  mur- 
mured his  condolences,  and  Miss  Blanchard,  not 
to  make  the  evening  doleful,  turned  again  to  speak 
of  Weimar. 

"We  lived  quite  near  to  Goethe's  house,"  she  said. 

Then  she  beheld  Mr.  Pease  glow  with  admiration. 
"You  are  very  fortunate,"  he  cried.  "The  inspiration 
must  have  been  great." 

"I  am  no  writer,  Mr.  Pease,"  returned  Beth. 

"But,"  he  explained,  "it  must  have  permanently 
bettered  and  improved  you  " 

"Do  you  think  I  needed  it?"  she  flashed. 

Miss  Cynthia,  at  her  end  of  the  table,  was  biting 
her  lip.  Pease,  not  perceiving  that  he  was  being 
rallied,  fell  to  apologising.  "Oh,  no,"  he  gasped.  "I 
meant " 

She  spared  him.  "I  was  not  serious,"  she  laughed. 
"You  must  pardon  me."     It  was  no  new  matter  with 


Introducmg  an  Eccentric  49 

her  to  relieve  the  embarrassed.  Then  she  led  him  once 
more  to  the  topic. 

"You  like  Weimar,  Mr.  Pease?" 

"Oh,  I  only  like  Goethe,  you  know,  and  Schiller.  I've 
never  been  from  America." 

"And  yet  you  read  German ? " 

"Not  very  well.     You  see,  I " 

And  then  he  spoke  of  himself.  Miss  Cynthia  sat 
amazed.  Here  was  Peveril,  who  was  always  silent  re- 
garding his  hobby,  speaking  from  his  heart.  Beth 
coaxed  a  little;  he  hung  back  a  bit,  but  he  yielded.  It 
was  as  if  a  miser  were  giving  up  his  gold,  yet  the  gold 
came.  For  all  that  she  had  invited  Beth  there,  wishing 
to  stir  her  cousin  from  his  rut,  Miss  Cynthia  presently 
became  enraged.  Peveril  was  telling  more  than  he  had 
ever  told  her.     This  chit  of  a  girl,  what  charm  had  she  ? 

But  Pease  himself,  as  he  told  the  unaccustomed  tale 
in  halting  sentences,  felt  comfort.  It  had  been  a  long 
time  repressed  within  him;  he  had  seldom  touched  on 
it  with  Cynthia,  and  though  he  had  not  known  it,  the 
loneliness  of  it  had  been  wearing  on  him  all  these  years. 
It  was  sympathy  that  now  brought  it  out,  that  quality 
in  Beth  which  could  pierce  the  armour  of  such  a  cynic 
as  Miss  Cynthia,  or  warm  so  cold  a  heart  as  William 
Fenno's.  Pease  yielded  to  it  as  frost  to  the  sun.  So  he 
told  of  himself  and  his  studies,  and  the  impulse  of  all 
these  years  he  confessed  at  the  last. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  flushing  painfully,  "it's  poetry 
that  I  love." 

And  he  sat,  the  man  of  business,  with  his  fair  skin  pink 
as  a  girl's.     Then,  lest  she  should  mistake,  he  explained. 

"You  mustn't  think,"  he  said  eagerly,  "that  I  really 
suppose  I  understand.  I  know  I  lose  much — I — I'm 
not  very  deep,  you  know.  There  are  so  many  subtle 
things  and  such  beautiful  ones  that  pass  me  by.      Only, 


5©  The  Bafticf 

you  see  [more  hesitation],  I  got  such  pleasure  from  the 
English  poets  that  I — tried  the  German.  With  a 
dictionary,  you  know,  and  a  grammar.  And  all  this  is 
so  much  to  me  that  I — I  don't  care  for  anything  else. 
Can  you  understand?" 

Then  he  was  swept  by  doubt  and  fear.  Would  she 
laugh  ?  Not  she !  Beth  made  him  understand  she 
appreciated  his  feelings,  and  presently  Miss  Cynthia 
found  herself  listening  to  a  discussion  of  Shakespeare. 
Her  lip  curled — how  foolish  of  Peveril !  What  real 
interest  could  Beth  take  in  his  ideas  ? 

He  asked  himself  the  same  question,  with  a  sudden 
start,  for  Beth  laughed  merrily.  What  had  he  said  that 
was  laughable?  She  held  up  a  finger.  "Mr.  Pease,  I 
am  going  to  accuse  you  of  something.  Will  you  promise 
to  tell  me  the  truth  ? " 

This,  he  dimly  felt,  was  a  species  of  banter.  "I 
promise,"  he  said  uncomfortably. 

"Then,  sir,  do  you  memorise?" 

"Why,  yes,"  he  confessed. 

" I  knew  it ! "  she  exclaimed.  "Miss  Cynthia,  are  you 
not  ashamed  of  him?  I  know  nobody  that  memorises 
now,  Mr.  Pease,  except  you  and — me  !" 

He  was  relieved,  and  they  fell  to  speaking  eagerly. 
For  the  next  few  minutes  Miss  Cynthia  felt  the  outrage 
of  hearing  poetry  quoted  at  her  table.  Wordsworth, 
Scott,  Bums,  and  then — for  Pease  was  truly  patriotic — 
Lanier  and  Longfellow.  And  so  they  came  to  discuss 
the  meaning  of  a  passage,  and  took  up  the  subject  of 
"Life."  Next,  "Happiness."  At  all  this  sentiment 
Miss  Cynthia  ground  her  teeth. 

Beth  was  of  the  opinion  that  environment  makes 
happiness.  Pease  maintained  that  we  make  our  own 
environment.  "Impossible!"  said  Beth,  thinking  of 
Mr,  Fenno  and  the  Judge. 


Introducing-  an  Eccentric  51 

"Easily  done!"  declared  Pease,  thinking  of  himself. 

Then  they  spoke  of  "Ideals  of  Conduct" — Which  of 
them  make  most  for  Happiness?  By  little  and  little 
they  came  to  the  point  where  Pease  felt  impelled  to  open 
his  breast  again.  He  spoke  of  his  motto,  quoting  it 
clumsily  with  his  self-taught  accent,  so  that  a  smile 
almost  came  to  her  lips.  She  drew  from  him  that  he 
believed  he  knew  the  gray  of  life,  and  the  green. 

"But,  Mr.  Pease,"  Beth  objected,  "how  can  you  say 
you  know  so  much  of  life  when  you  live  so  much  alone  ? " 

"We  are  late — we  are  late!"  cried  Miss  Cynthia 
suddenly.  "We  shall  miss  our  engagement  if  we  sit  so 
long  here." 

And  so  the  two  ladies  presently  went  away,  refusing 
all  escort.  Standing  at  the  open  door.  Pease  watched 
them  with  a  strange  regret.  The  thought  of  returning 
to  his  books  was  astonishingly  unwelcome;  they  seemed 
to  be  but  leather,  ink,  and  paper.  He  looked  up  at  the 
heavens.  Something  was  stinging  in  his  veins:  what  a 
lovely  world !  For  the  first  time  he  recognised  the 
beauty  of  the  moon. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  footstep,  and 
there  stood  Mather.  "Mr.  Pease,"  said  he,  "this  is  an 
unusual  hour  for  business.  But  the  kind  offer  which 
you  made  me  to-day "     He  hesitated. 

"The  position  had  only  possibilities,"  answered  Pease. 
"You  would  be  your  own  master,  because  I  should  leave 
everything  to  you,  but  it  would  be  like  beginning  at  the 
bottom  again.     I  knew  you  would  refuse  me." 

"You  mistake,"  returned  Mather  with  energy.  "I 
like  the  chance,  and  will  build  up  yotir  venture  for  you. 
I  am  ready  to  take  your  instructions  to-night,  and  go 
to  work  Monday  morning." 

"Come  inside,"  said  Mr.  Pease. 


CHAPTER   VII 
Chebasset 

At  the  conference  between  Mather  and  Pease 
various  matters  were  discussed  which  are  not  to  the 
direct  purpose  of  this  story.  Such  were,  for  instance, 
the  electrical  and  mechanical  devices  by  which  a  metal 
was  to  be  produced  from  its  ore,  either  in  sheets,  pure, 
or  plated  on  iron.  Pease  had  bought  the  patent;  the 
plan  commended  itself  to  Mather  immediately;  there 
was  "good  money"  in  it.  But  before  anything  else 
could  be  done  a  plant  must  be  secured,  a  work  which 
Pease  expected  would  take  much  time.  He  watched 
to  see  how  Mather  would  propose  to  go  about  it. 

"We  must  have  a  good  water-supply  for  the  vats," 
mused  Mather.  "A  harbour-front  will  be  needed  for 
the  coal  and  ore ;  that  means  a  suburban  location,  which 
calls  again  for  railroad  facilities." 

"Of  course  there  is  no  mill  ready-made ? " 

"There  is!  The  old  Dye  Company's  plant  at  Che- 
basset." 

"Impossible!"  answered  Pease  at  once. 

"  Because  rich  people  have  summer  places  thereabouts, 
and  wouldn't  like  a  mill  as  neighbour?" 

"Those  rich  people  are  our  friends,"  reminded  Pease. 

"Mr.  Pease,"  said  Mather  positively,  "I  know  all  the 
mills  of  this  neighbourhood.  There  is  no  other  suitable. 
To  use  this  plant  will  save  us  a  year's  time,  as  well  as 
great  expense.  The  buildings  are  in  good  condition; 
the  vats  are  large.     The  harbour  is  deep;  all  we  need  is 

52 


Chchzsset  53 

to  enlarge  the  wharf  and  put  in  new  engines.  What 
more  could  one  ask?" 

"Nothing,"  admitted  Pease. 

"Then  why  not  buy?  Colonel  Blanchard  has  been 
trying  to  sell  these  ten  years ;  he  lost  much  money  there. 
The  price  is  so  low  that  Fenno  or  Branderson  could 
easily  have  protected  themselves." 

Pease  still  hesitated. 

"One  thing  more,"  said  Mather.  "I  have  visited  in 
Chebasset,  for  short  periods;  I  know  the  place  fairly  well. 
The  mill  is  in  the  remotest  comer  of  the  town,  and  the 
dirtiest ;  there  are  poor  houses  there,  wretched  sanitation, 
and  a  saloon  on  mill  property.  It's  a  good  place  gone 
to  seed.     I'd  like  to  clean  it  out." 

Mr.  Pease  thought  he  saw  a  way.  "Let  this  settle  it. 
If  the  Colonel  is  willing  to  sell,  there  will  be  no  reason 
why  we  should  not  buy." 

"I  may  go  ahead  on  that  understanding?" 

"You  may." 

Mather  rose.  "The  Colonel  will  be  willing  to  sell.  If 
you  put  this  in  my  hands,  and  will  not  appear,  I  can  get 
the  place  cheap.  People  are  ready  to  see  me  start  on 
another  fool's  errand  at  any  time." 

"Go  ahead,  then;  you  know  how  much  I  am  willing 
to  spend.  Attend  to  everything  and  spare  me  the  de- 
tails. But,"  added  Pease  kindly,  "I  am  sorry  to  see 
you  quite  so  bitter.  Your  friends  will  yet  put  you  back 
in  Ellis's  place." 

"When  he  has  a  clear  majority  of  fifty  votes  in  our 
small  issue  of  stock?  Ah,  let  me  go  my  own  way,  Mr. 
Pease.  I  see  here  a  chance  to  do  a  good  thing;  I  need 
a  wrestle  with  business.  After  I  have  been  a  month  at 
this  you  will  find  me  a  different  man." 

They  parted,  each  with  a  little  envy  of  the  other. 
Mather  envied  Pease  his  accomplishments,  the  work 


54  The  Battier 

that  stood  in  his  name ;  Pease  coveted  the  other's  youth. 
But  each  was  glad  that  they  were  working  together. 
Pease  found  that  the  purchase  was  accomplished  within 
a  fortnight,  and  that  men  were  soon  at  work  on  altera- 
tions in  the  mills.  Those  were  matters  in  which  he  did 
not  concern  himself ;  the  scheme  was  bound  to  succeed ; 
he  had  little  money  in  it  (as  money  went  with  him) ,  and 
he  was  interested  to  see  what  Mather  would  make  of  the 
business.  Trouble  in  the  form  of  criticism  was  bound 
to  come. 

When  it  came  the  ladies  took  an  active  hand  in  it. 
Mrs.  Fenno  complained  that  the  sky-line  of  her  view 
would  be  broken  by  the  new  chimney;  Mrs.  Branderson 
had  no  relish  for  the  aspect  of  the  projected  coal-wharf. 
Young  people  believed  that  the  river  would  be  spoiled 
for  canoeing,  and  all  agreed  that  the  village  would  be 
no  longer  bearable,  with  the  families  of  fifty  imported 
workmen  to  make  it  noisy  and  dirty.  Moreover,  if  the 
villagers  themselves  should  give  up  their  old  occupations 
of  fishing,  clam-digging,  and  market-gardening,  for  the 
steadier  work  in  the  mill,  then  where  would  the  cottagers 
look  for  their  lobsters,  their  stews,  and  their  fresh 
vegetables?  But  the  plan  was  put  through.  The 
chimney  went  up,  the  wharf  was  enlarged,  coal  and  ore 
barges  appeared  in  the  little  harbour,  and  in  a  surpris- 
ingly short  time  the  old  Dye  Company's  mill  was  ready 
for  work.  Pease  saw  his  returns  promised  a  year  before 
he  had  expected,  but  George  Mather  was  no  longer 
popular.  Mrs.  Fenno  frowned  at  him,  Mrs.  Branderson 
scolded,  and  though  their  husbands  laughed  at  the 
young  man  and  said  he  had  been  clever,  many  people 
clamoured,  and  among  them  Judith  Blanchard. 

This  move  of  Mather's  had  taken  her  by  surprise;  at 
a  step  he  had  gained  a  new  position.  No  offers  from 
the  rich  men  moved  him  to  sell ;  he  replied  that  he  meant 


Chcbasset  SS 

to  cany  out  his  plans.  So  a  whole  section  of  the  town 
was  put  in  order  for  the  families  of  the  new  workmen. 
Judith,  hearing  of  all  this,  complained  to  Mather  when 
she  met  him. 

"And  yet,"  he  responded,  "the  mill  is  a  mile  from  the 
nearest  estate;  the  whole  town  lies  between.  As  for 
what  clearing  up  I've  done,  I  value  picturesqueness, 
Judith,  but  the  place  is  now  ten  times  healthier.  And 
we  are  putting  in  smoke-consumers." 

"Yet  from  most  of  our  houses  we  can  see  your 
chimney." 

"Judith,  for  that  one  eyesore  which  I  put  up  I  will 
remove  ten  from  the  town." 

"But  who  asked  you  to  do  it  ?  You  never  lived  here; 
you  have  no  love  for  the  place." 

"I  have  lived,"  he  replied,  "in  other  New  England 
towns,  equally  degenerate." 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  the  townspeople,"  she  said. 
"  I  mean  the  summer  residents." 

"Wasn't  it  your  father's  matter  to  think  of  them?" 

Judith  had  felt  the  discussion  to  be  going  against  her. 
Therefore  she  answered  with  some  warmth:  "That  is 
another  question  entirely  ! " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Judith,"  he  said.  "But  mayn't 
I  describe  my  plans?" 

"No,"  she  answered;  "I  don't  think  it  is  necessary." 

"Very  well,"  he  returned,  and  made  no  attempt  to 
say  more.  Hurt,  he  fell  into  a  mood  of  dogged  en- 
durance. "Very  well,"  he  repeated,  and  let  the  matter 
drop.  Then  Judith's  interest  was  roused  too  late;  he 
might  really  have  had  something  to  say.  She  knew  that 
dirt  was  unhealthy;  she  remembered  that  in  Chebasset 
drunkards  on  the  street  were  more  plentiful  than  in 
Stirling.  Yet  her  generosity  did  not  quite  extend  to 
recalling  her  words — partly  because  of  natural  pride, 


56  The  "Battier 

partly  because  she  knew  his  interest  in  her  and  would 
not  encourage  it,  partly  again  because  she  still  resented 
his  words  to  Ellis  in  her  presence.  And  so  the  breach 
between  them  remained. 

Yet  he  had  already  impressed  her,  by  his  manly 
readiness  to  begin  life  again,  and  by  his  steadiness 
under  her  fire.  Confidence  was,  to  Judith,  almost  a 
virtue.  And  the  idea  of  reform  always  appealed  to  her: 
had  the  place  been  really  so  bad  ? 

One  by  one  the  households  had  been  moving  down  to 
Chebasset,  and  Beth  had  already  opened  the  Blanchard 
cottage.  On  the  evening  after  Judith  had  spoken  with 
Mather  she  asked  if  Beth  had  noticed  the  changes  in 
Chebasset. 

"George's ?  At  his  mill ? "  asked  Beth.  " I  think  it's 
much  improved.  Those  horrid  tumble-down  shanties 
are  gone,  and  there  are  new  houses  there  now — shingled 
and  stained  they  are  to  be — with  new  fences." 

"Father,"  asked  Judith,  "why  didn't  you  do  that?" 

"My  dear  child,"  was  his  response,  "how  could  I 
afford  it?"  The  Colonel  was  always  nervous  when  the 
subject  of  the  new  mill  was  broached,  and  quitted  it  as 
soon  as  possible.     But  Judith  pursued  him. 

"I  asked  George  if  he  had  not  treated  us  unfairly — 
the  property  owners,  I  mean.  He  seemed  to  think  that 
was  your  affair." 

Beth  was  up  in  arms  at  once.  "For  that  chimney? 
He  laid  the  blame  on  papa?" 

The  Colonel  wiped  his  flowing  mustache,  and  looked 
at  Judith;  Beth's  outraged  cry  did  not  interest  him  so 
much  as  his  elder  daughter's  stand.  "What  did  you 
say  to  him?"  he  asked. 

"I  said  that  was  another  question." 

"So  it  is,"  agreed  the  Colonel.  "Entirely  different." 
He  looked  at  Beth  to  see  if  she  were  satisfied;  she  rose 


Chebasset  57 

and  came  behind  his  chair,  where  she  began  smoothing 
his  hair. 

"Poor  papa,"  she  purred. 

Blanchard  swelled  his  chest.  "Thank  you,  Beth," 
he  said,  but  his  thoughts  went  back  to  Judith.  People 
took  different  stands  on  this  matter;  he  was  anxious  to 
have  Judith  on  his  side.  Fenno  had  told  the  Colonel 
that  he,  Fenno,  ought  to  have  been  informed  of  the 
proposed  sale;  Branderson,  less  bluntly,  had  intimated 
the  same.  It  was  possible  that  Judith  might  take  a 
similar  view. 

"I  had  others  beside  myself  to  consider,"  he  said. 

"Dear  papa!"  murmured  Beth.  But  Judith  took  it 
differently. 

"I  don't  want  to  profit  by  the  sale,"  she  stated. 

The  Colonel  offered  no  explanation.  At  the  time  of 
the  sale  he  had  not  been  thinking  of  his  daughters,  but 
of  certain  pressing  creditors.  So  the  money  had  been 
welcome  and  was  already  partly  gone.  He  answered 
with  grim  knowledge  of  a  hidden  meaning. 

"I'll  take  care  you  shall  not  profit  by  the  transaction, 
Judith.  But  I  am  sorry  that  the  mill  is  sold.  I  hate 
a  disturbance." 

"Don't  you  be  sorry,  papa!"  exhorted  Beth.  But 
Judith  delivered  a  shot  which  hit  her  parent  between 
wind  and  water.  It  was  one  of  those  impromptus 
which  come  too  quickly  to  be  checked. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Fenno  would  have  given  more." 

"Judith!"  shouted  her  father,  bouncing  in  his  chair. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  papa,"  she  said  humbly. 

When  Judith  was  humble  she  was  charming;  the 
Colonel  accepted  her  kiss  and  pardoned  her.  As  for 
herself,  she  felt  her  spirit  lightened,  as  by  an  electric 
discharge,  and  began  to  look  at  the  whole  question  of 
Mather's    mill    more    temperately.     Why    shotdd    she 


5  8  The  Bartief 

grudge  him  his  success?  It  was  so  much  less  than 
Ellis's.  When  next  she  met  Mather  she  was  gracious 
to  him,  and  was  ready  to  hear  a  full  account  of  all 
his  plans,  if  only  he  would  open  the  subject.  He 
avoided  it. 

Then  the  Blanchards  moved  to  Chebasset,  and  Judith 
saw  the  mill  and  chimney  with  her  own  eyes.  People 
had  stopped  scolding  about  them;  she  found  them  not 
so  bad  as  had  been  reported,  and  the  chimney,  though 
certainly  tall,  gave  off  but  the  slightest  film  of  smoke. 
So  thorough  were  Mather's  improvements  that  they 
forced  Judith's  admiration.  When  she  first  went  to 
the  grocer's  and,  after  making  her  purchases,  inquired 
of  the  changes  in  the  town,  she  heard  a  torrent  of  praise 
of  Mather. 

"It's  a  bad  place  he's  cleaned  out,"  the  grocer  said, 
coming  very  close  and  speaking  confidentially.  "Many 
young  fellows  were  led  wrong  there,  but  the  biggest 
saloon's  gone  now,  and  some  of  the  worst  men  have  left 
the  town,  and  a  man  can  feel  that  his  own  children  have 
a  chance  of  growing  up  decent.  It's  two  boys  I  have, 
Miss  Blanchard,  that  I  was  worrying  about  till  Mr. 
Mather  came." 

"I  am  glad  things  are  so  much  better,"  Judith  said. 

"They'll  be  better  yet,"  the  grocer  responded. 
"Gross,  the  other  saloon-keeper,  has  got  to  look  after 
himself  now.  Mr.  Mather  had  him  in  court  only  the 
other  day — look,  there  they  are  now." 

On  the  sidewalk  outside  stood  a  large  man,  gross  as 
was  his  name;  across  the  street  Mather  was  uncon- 
cernedly walking.  The  saloon-keeper  raised  a  fist  and 
shouted  at  Mather,  who  paused  and  looked  over  at  him 
inquiringly. 

"I'll  be  even  with  you  !"  shouted  Gross  again. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  answered  Mather  cheerfully,  "I'll  come 


Chebasset  59 

over."  He  crossed  the  street  and  stepped  directly  to 
the  saloon-keeper.  "You'll  be  even  with  me  for  what, 
Mr.  Gross?" 

"For  that  fine,"  answered  the  other.  "I'll  have  you 
in  court  yet,  see  if  I  don't." 

"You'll  have  me  in  court,"  rejoined  Mather,  "when 
you  catch  me  selling  whisky  to  minors,  not  before, 
Mr.  Gross.  And  while  we're  on  this  subject  I  may  as 
well  say  that  I've  just  sworn  out  a  second  warrant 
against  you." 

The  saloon-keeper  backed  away  from  the  very 
cool  young  man.  "What  yer  goin'  ter  do?"  he 
asked. 

"I'm  going  to  see,"  Mather  answered,  "that  you 
observe  the  liquor  laws.  And  when  your  license  comes 
before  the  selectmen  for  renewal,  I  shall  be  at  the 
hearing." 

On  Gross's  face  appeared  blotches  of  white.  "We'll 
see!"  he  blustered. 

"We'll  see,"  agreed  Mather,  and  turned  away. 

The  grocer  spoke  in  Judith's  ear.  "That's  the  stuff! 
That's  what,  Miss  Blanchard!"  Waiting  till  Mather 
was  gone,  Judith  left  the  shop  and  went  home  very 
thoughtful.  So  George  was  working,  on  however 
small  a  scale,  for  reform  and  progress.  She  could  not 
fail  to  see  that  for  his  coming  the  whole  town  had  a 
brisker,  brighter  look.  Chebasset  streets  had  been  dull, 
sleepy,  unpainted.  Now  fences  were  repaired,  houses 
were  freshened,  and  the  townspeople  looked  better 
dressed,  because  the  men  were  earning  more  money  at 
the  mill,  or  the  women  were  gaining  livings  by  boarding 
and  lodging  the  new-comers.  The  town  was  changed, 
and  Mather  was  the  cause. 

Then  she  learned  more  of  him.  He  was  domesticating 
himself  there,  kept  a  cat-boat,  and  had  even  bought  a 


6o  The  Bafficf 

cottage.  Beth  pointed  out  the  Httle  house,  a  good 
example  of  provincial  architecture. 

"You  didn't  tell  us  you  were  going  to  buy,"  Judith 
reproached  him  when  he  came  to  call. 

"Oh,"  he  answered  indirectly,  "I  fell  in  love  with  the 
place,  and  the  family  mahogany  fits  in  there  exactly. 
Did  you  notice  my  roses?" 

Then  he  spoke  of  gardening,  and  gave  Judith  no 
chance  to  tell  him  what  she  thought  about  his  work. 
Had  he  done  so,  she  might  even  have  let  him  know  that 
she  had  overheard  his  talk  with  Gross,  and  that  his 
action  pleased  her.  But  he  avoided  the  subject;  his 
call  was  brief,  and  after  he  had  gone  he  did  not  return  for 
a  number  of  days.  Chebasset  was  not  lively  that 
summer;  Judith  grew  lonesome,  and  more  than  once 
thought  of  Mather.  His  conduct  piqued  and  puzzled 
her.  Now  was  his  chance,  as  he  ought  to  know.  What 
had  become  of  the  lover  who  used  to  bring  to  her  his 
hopes  and  fears? 

As  for  that  lover,  he  had  less  time  at  his  disposal  than 
Judith  supposed.  All  day  he  was  at  the  mill,  or  else 
went  to  Stirling  on  necessary  business;  at  night  he  was 
very  tired.  Yet  though  he  knew  he  was  leaving  Judith 
to  her  own  devices,  he  did  it  deliberately.  Until  she 
was  tired  of  freedom,  until  she  had  satisfied  her  interest 
in  the  great  world,  she  would  come  to  no  man's  call. 
Perhaps  his  conclusion  was  wise,  perhaps  it  was  not, 
for  while  at  a  distance  he  watched  Judith  and  weighed 
his  chances,  Ellis  was  doing  the  same. 

To  the  outsider,  Mather's  path  seemed  clear;  he  lived 
in  the  same  town  with  Judith,  might  see  her  every  day, 
and,  worst  of  all,  was  prospering.  "I'll  touch  him  up," 
said  Ellis  grimly  to  himself.  "He'll  buy  a  house,  will 
he?"  And  from  that  time  he  kept  well  informed  of 
Mather's  business  acts,  watching  for  a  chance  to  trip 


Chebasset  6i 

him.  Ellis  knew  all  the  ways  of  those  three  great 
forces:  politics,  capital,  and  labour;  he  could  pull  so 
many  wires  that  he  counted  on  acting  unobserved. 

Minor  annoyances  met  Mather  in  his  business,  trace- 
able to  no  particular  source.  There  was  evident  dis- 
crimination in  railroad  rates,  and  yet  so  small  was  the 
increase  that  proof  was  difficult.  Freight  was  mislaid 
and  mishandled;  it  was  frequently  very  vexing.  But 
the  real  attempt  to  cripple  the  new  business  came  toward 
the  middle  of  the  summer,  when  Ellis,  weary  of  the 
weak  attempts  of  his  subordinates  at  annoyance,  took 
a  hand  himself,  and  looked  for  some  vital  flaw  in  the 
safeguards  of  the  Electrolytic  Company.  He  believed 
he  found  it,  and  various  legal  notices  came  to  Mather, 
all  of  which  remained  unanswered.  Finally  an  im- 
portant official  came  in  person  to  the  office.  He 
introduced  himself  as  Mr.  Daggett  of  the  harbour 
commission. 

"I  have  written  you  several  times,"  he  complained. 

"So  you  have,"  answered  Mather.  "Miss  Jenks,  may 
Mr.  Daggett  and  I  have  the  office  to  ourselves  for  a  while  ? 
I  take  it,"  he  added,  when  the  door  closed  behind  the 
stenographer,  "that  we  are  going  to  be  rude  to  each 
other.     Have  a  cigar?" 

"Thanks,"  said  Daggett,  "but  I  don't  see  why  ye 
didn't  answer." 

"  I  was  too  busy.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  get  you  down 
here,  so  as  to  settle  the  matter  once  for  all.  Will  you 
state  the  matter  plainly;  your  letters  were  vague? 
That  is  the  wharf  out  there." 

Mr.  Daggett  viewed  it  through  the  window.  "Yes, 
it's  surely  a  long  wharf.  Twenty  feet  beyond  the 
harbour  line.     Ye'll  have  to  take  it  down." 

"Or  else?"  demanded  Mather. 

"Show  a  permit." 


62  The  Bamet 

"Come,  there's  one  other  choice." 

"Pay  a  fine,"  grinned  Daggett.  "We've  set  a  pretty 
large  sum.  The  board's  irritated,  ye  see,  because  ye've 
paid  so  little  attention  to  us." 

"The  board  never  fails  to  answer  letters,  does  it?" 
inquired  Mather. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You're  too  busy,  I  suppose.  And  you  don't  appear 
to  remember  seeing  me  before,  Mr.  Daggett." 

"Have  I  ?"  asked  the  commissioner. 

"You  don't  recollect  that  I  wrote  about  this  matter 
two  months  ago?  I  had  to  go  to  the  office  to  get  an 
answer.  You  were  deep  in  affairs,  Mr.  Daggett.  I 
found  you  and  two  others  playing  cards." 

"Was  I?"  asked  Daggett. 

"When  was  this  harbour  line  established,  anyway? 
Wasn't  it  about  two  weeks  ago?" 

"Certainly,"  Mr.  Daggett  answered.  "That  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  But  what  did  we  tell  you  at  the 
oflSce — I  can't  remember  your  coming." 

"I  wasn't  there  long  enough  to  make  much  impres- 
sion," said  Mather.  "One  of  your  friends  told  me 
that  all  fools  knew  there  was  no  harbour  line  here,  and 
I  didn't  need  your  permission." 

"Hm!"  remarked  Daggett  doubtfully.  Then  he 
brightened.     "Did  we  give  you  that  in  writing ? " 

"I  didn't  ask  you  for  it.  You  seemed  so  anxious  to 
go  on  with  your  game  that  I  didn't  trouble  you  further." 

"Then  you  have  no  permission,"  stated  Daggett. 
"And  now  that  there  is  a  harbour  line,  what  will  you  do 
about  it?" 

"I  learned  all  I  wanted  of  you,"  said  Mather.  He 
had  not  yet  risen  from  his  desk,  but  now  he  did  so,  and 
going  over  to  his  safe,  he  threw  it  open.  "I  asked 
nothing  further  because,  there  being  no  harbour  line,  a 


Chebasset  63 

permit  wouldn't  have  been  worth  the  paper  it  was 
written  on.  I  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy." 
Mather  drew  a  document  from  a  drawer  of  the  safe. 
"Do  you  care  to  see  his  answer?" 

"Whew!"  whistled  Daggett.  "Well,  I  suppose  I 
might  as  well." 

Mather  gave  him  the  paper.  "You  will  see  that  I 
have  permission  to  build  ten  feet  farther  if  I  want  to, 
and  fifteen  broader.  I  may  also  build  another  wharf 
if  I  wish,  lower  down.  Are  you  satisfied?"  He 
touched  the  bell.  "You  may  come  in  now.  Miss 
Jenks.  Thank  you  for  taking  it  so  easily,  Mr. 
Daggett.  I  won't  keep  you  from  your  game  any 
longer.     Good-day." 

— "And  before  I  left  the  office  he  was  hard  at  work 
again,  Mr.  Ellis,"  reported  Daggett.  "Save  me,  but 
he's  taken  pretty  good  care  of  himself,  and  that's  a 
fact." 

Ellis  had  no  comments  to  make;  he  did  his  growling 
to  himself.  Seeing  nothing  further  to  do,  he  left 
Mather  alone. 

Thus  time  passed  by  till  that  midsummer  day  when 
Ellis  took  the  trolley  to  Chebasset  and,  once  there, 
strolled  among  its  streets.  He  viewed  the  mill  from  a 
distance  and  gritted  his  teeth  at  the  sight.  Mather 
was  well  ensconced ;  it  seemed  altogether  too  likely  that 
he  might  win  a  wife,  among  his  other  successes.  Then 
the  promoter  left  the  town  and  climbed  above  it  on  the 
winding  road,  viewing  the  estates  of  the  summer 
residents  as  one  by  one  he  passed  their  gates.  Should 
he  enter  at  the  Judge's  ? 

A  light  step  sounded  on  the  road  as  he  hesitated  at 
the  gate.  Someone  spoke  his  name,  and  there  stood 
Judith  Blanchard. 

"Here,  and  in  business  hours?"  she  asked. 


64  The  Bartier 

"My  day's  work  was  done,"  he  answered.  "Besides, 
it  was  not  all  pleasure  that  brought  me." 

Judith's  eyes  brightened.     "Tell  me,"  she  suggested. 

"Why  should  I  tell  you  ? "  he  asked  bluntly.  But  the 
brusqueness  only  pleased  her;  he  was  a  man  of  secrets. 

"No  reason  at  all,"  she  answered. 

"And  yet,"  he  said,  "your  advice  would  be  valuable, 
if  you  will  not  tell." 

"I!     I  tell?"  she  asked.     "You  do  not  know  me." 

"Then,"  he  said,  "I  came  to  look  at  land  here." 

"To  look  at  land  here?"  she  repeated,  questioning. 
"Can  you  buy  here?" 

"There  is  land,"  he  said.  "The  price  would  be 
doubled  if  it  were  known  I  am  after  it.  I  have  the 
refusal  of  it,  through  agents." 

"Where  does  it  lie?"  she  asked. 

"Farther  up  the  road." 

"You  must  not  be  seen  going  to  it,"  she  declared. 
"People  would  take  alarm "  She  stopped,  em- 
barrassed. 

"I  do  not  mind,"  he  said,  and  yet  she  felt  his  bitter- 
ness.    "I  am  not  considered  a  good  neighbour." 

"It  is  wrong  of  people,"  she  declared  earnestly. 

"I  should  not  be  welcome  on  any  one  of  these  piazzas," 
he  said,  indicating  the  villas  beyond  them.  "The 
Judge  doesn't  like  me — your  own  father  has  no  use  for 
me. 

"Will  you  come  and  try?"  she  cried.  "I  should  like 
to  see  if  my  father  will  be  rude  to  my  guest." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  "but  do  you  con- 
sider  ?" 

"I  have  invited  you,"  she  interrupted.  "Will  you 
come?" 

"With  pleasure,"  he  answered.  They  went  up  the 
hill  together. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
The  Progress  of  Acquaintance 

Judith,  before  she  met  Ellis  for  this  second  time,  had 
been  bored.  Cheb asset  was  so  dull  that  it  was  dreary; 
in  the  country-houses  were  given  little  teas,  slow  whist- 
parties,  or  stupid  luncheons.  Of  the  young  people  of 
her  age  some  had  married,  others  had  gone  into  business, 
and  the  self-content  of  the  first  of  these  was  not  to  be 
disturbed,  nor  the  fatigue  of  the  others  to  be  increased, 
for  the  sake  of  giving  Judith  a  good  time.  She  became 
a  little  impatient  with  her  surroundings,  therefore,  and 
as  the  sizzling  summer  brought  physical  discomfort,  she 
was  inclined  to  lay  the  blame  where  it  could  scarcely 
with  justice  be  said  to  belong.  Yet  while  her  ac- 
quaintances were  not  responsible  for  the  heat,  Judith, 
with  her  abundant  energies  unused,  was  right  in  feeling 
that  society  was  sunk  in  sloth,  and  that  instead  of 
giving  itself  to  petty  diversions  it  had  better  do  some- 
thing worth  while.  She  was  discontented  with  herself, 
her  idleness,  her  uselessness;  she  felt  that  she  would 
rather  face  even  the  heat  of  the  city,  and  be  doing,  than 
stay  longer  on  her  piazza  and  keep  cool.  Therefore  she 
had  sought  the  dusty  road  as  a  sort  of  penance,  and 
meeting  Ellis,  had  been  reminded  of  what  he  stood  for: 
the  world  of  working  men  and  women. 

She  had  thought  of  him  many  times  since  their  first 
meeting,  making  his  achievements  a  standard  to  which 
only  Pease  and  Fenno  approximated,  and  of  which 
Mather  fell  far  short.     She  had  continued  to  read  of 

6S 


66  The  "Bzttiet 

Ellis  in  the  newspapers,  to  watch  his  slow  course  of  un- 
interrupted success,  and  had  come  to  accept  the  popular 
idea  of  his  irresistible  genius.  Feeling  this  natural 
admiration  of  his  immense  energy  and  skill,  in  her 
heart  she  made  little  of  the  two  obstacles  which  were 
said  to  lie  in  his  path.  For  it  was  claimed,  first,  that 
some  day  the  street-railway  would  prove  too  much  for 
him,  bringing  him  as  it  did  in  contact  with  the  organised 
mass  of  labourers,  and  with  the  public  which  Mather  had 
accustomed  to  an  excellent  standard  of  service.  Could 
Ellis  always  maintain  the  present  delicate  balance 
between  dividends,  wages,  and  efficiency  ?  Again  it  was 
said  that  some  day  he  would  come  in  conflict  with 
Judith's  own  class,  which,  when  it  chose  to  exert  its 
power,  would  rise  and  hurl  him  down.  Judith  put  no 
belief  in  either  of  these  prophesies,  considering  Ellis 
able  to  avoid  all  difificulties,  her  caste  too  flabby  to 
oppose  him.  So  she  thought  of  him  as  destined  always 
to  conquer;  he  would  win  his  way  even  among  the  elect, 
and  might  become  a  friend  of  hers.  For  she  could  help 
him;  they  were  alike  in  their  loneliness,  and  their  out- 
look upon  life  was  the  same.  Therefore  when  she  met 
him  she  welcomed  him. 

A  fillip  to  the  wheel  of  her  fate  was  given  as  she  and 
Ellis  went  up  the  hill.  They  met  Miss  Fenno  coming 
down.  Now  Miss  Fenno  was  the  extreme  type  of  the 
society-bred  person,  knowing  nothing  but  the  one 
thing.  Her  interests  were  so  small  that  they  included 
less  than  the  proverbial  four-hundred  people;  her 
prejudices  were  so  large  that  they  formed  a  sort  of 
Chinese  wall  to  exclude  any  real  humanity  of  soul. 
And  all  she  did  at  this  juncture  was  to  gaze  very  super- 
ciliously at  Ellis,  and  then  to  give  the  coldest  of  nods 
to  Judith  as  she  passed. 

"The  Fenno  manner,"  grumbled  Ellis  to  himself. 


The  Progress  of  Acquaintance  67 

But  Judith  flamed  with  resentment.  She  brought 
ElHs  up  to  her  own  piazza,  a  few  minutes  later,  with  that 
in  her  bearing  which  her  father  recognised  as  her 
panoply  of  war:  quietness,  erectness,  something  of 
hauteur.     The  Colonel  rose  hastily. 

"I  have  brought  Mr.  Ellis,"  she  said. 

"  Glad  to  see  him  ! "  exclaimed  the  Colonel  as  if  he  had 
been  spurred.     "Mr.  Ellis  is  a  stranger  in  Chebasset." 

Ellis  had  the  wisdom  to  attempt  no  manner.  "I 
come  here  seldom,"  he  responded.  "You  are  very  kind 
to  welcome  me.  Colonel." 

He  wondered  if  the  use  of  the  title  were  proper  in  the 
upper  circle,  and  if  he  should  have  answered  differently. 
Moments  such  as  this  made  the  game  seem  scarcely  worth 
the  candle ;  the  nerve  and  fiber  used  up  were  more  than 
a  day  of  business  would  require.  But  his  qualities 
asserted  themselves.  Here  he  was  where  he  most 
wanted  to  be;  he  meant  to  win  the  right  to  come  again. 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  view ? "  the  Colonel  asked, 
leading  his  guest  to  the  edge  of  the  piazza.  The  hill  fell 
away  steeply,  the  town  lay  below,  and  scattered  on  the 
farther  hillsides  were  the  villas  of  the  well-to-do.  The 
Colonel  began  pointing  out  the  residences.  "Alfred 
Fenno  over  there — Alfred,  not  William,  you  know; 
richer  than  his  brother,  but  not  so  prominent.  And 
down  there  is  Branderson;  he  overlooks  the  river,  but 
he  also  sees  the  new  chimney,  which  we  miss."  The 
Colonel  added,  "A  good  deal  of  money  he  has  spent 
there." 

"I  should  think  so,"  agreed  Ellis. 

"The  Dents  are  over  there,"  Blanchard  proceeded. 
"Rather  pretentious  the  house  is,  in  my  opinion,  like — " 
his  voice  faded  away;  he  had  had  in  mind  Ellis's  own 

house  in  the  city.     " Er,  gingerbready,  don't  you 

think?" 


68  The  Barticr 

"The  elms  don't  let  me  see  it  very  well,"  Ellis 
was  glad  to  answer.  For  what  was  gingerbready  ? 
Sticky  ? 

"But  much  money  in  it,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Dent 
has  made  a  good  thing  of  his  mills." 

"Very  good  thing,"  murmured  Ellis.  He  was  inter- 
ested to  hear  these  comments  of  an  insider. 

"Kingston's  place  is  over  there,"  continued  the 
Colonel.  "Now,  I  like,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Ellis,  what 
Kingston  has  done  with  that  house.  Small,  but  a  gem, 
sir — a  gem  !  Money  has  not  been  spared — and  there's 
lots  of  money  there ! "  quoth  the  Colonel,  wagging  his 
head. 

Ellis  began  to  perceive  the  monotony  of  these  de- 
scriptions. Money,  riches;  riches,  money.  And  there 
was  an  unction  to  each  utterance  which  might  betray 
the  inner  man.     Judith  perceived  this  also. 

"Let  us  have  tea,"  she  said,  and  going  where  the  tea- 
table  stood,  she  rang  for  the  maid.  But  the  Colonel 
continued : 

"And  William  Fenno  is  over  there — a  fine  house,  Mr. 
Ellis;  pure  Georgian,  a  hundred  years  old  if  it's  a  day. 
A  very  old  family,  and  a  very  old  family  fortune.  The 
West  India  trade  did  it,  before  our  shipping  declined." 

"Long  ago,"  murmured  ElUs.  He  knew  very  little 
of  those  old  days.  The  present  and  the  immediate 
future  concerned  him,  and  as  for  the  causes  of  industrial 
changes,  he  was  one  himself. 

"Come,"  insisted  Judith,  "come  and  sit  down,  and  let 
us  leave  off  talking  of  people's  possessions." 

"Judith!  My  dear!"  remonstrated  the  Colonel. 
But  the  maid  was  bringing  out  the  steaming  kettle,  and 
he  took  his  seat  by  the  table.  "My  daughter,"  he  said 
to  Ellis,  half  playfully,  "does  not  concern  herself  with 
things  which  you  and  I  must  consider." 


The  Pf ogress  of  Acquaintance  69 

Judith  raised  her  eyebrows.  "Do  you  take  sugar, 
Mr.  EUis?"  she  asked. 

"Sugar,  if  you  please,"  he  answered.  He  was  divided 
in  his  interest  as  he  sat  there,  for  he  had  taken  from  the 
chair,  and  now  held  in  his  hand,  the  newspaper  which 
the  Colonel  had  been  reading  as  they  arrived.  Ellis 
saw  pencillings  beside  the  stock-exchange  reports,  but 
though  he  wished  to  read  them  he  did  not  dare,  and 
so  laid  the  paper  aside  to  watch  Judith  make  the  tea. 
This  was  new  to  him.  Mrs.  Harmon  had  never  taken 
the  trouble  to  offer  him  tea,  though  the  gaudy  outfit 
stood  always  in  her  parlour.  He  knew  that  the  "proper 
thing"  was  his  at  last,  in  this  detail,  but  how  to  take 
the  cup,  how  hold  it,  drink  from  it?  Confound  the 
schoolboy  feeling ! 

"It  was  hot  in  the  city  to-day?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Uncomfortable,"  answered  Ellis.  "You  are  for- 
tunate, Miss  Blanchard,  not  to  have  to  go  to  the  city 
every  day,  as  some  girls  do." 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  she  responded.  "It's  dull  here, 
doing  nothing.    I  sometimes  wish  I  were  a  stenographer. '  * 

"Judith!"  exclaimed  her  father. 

"To  earn  your  own  living?"  asked  Ellis. 

"I  should  not  be  afraid  to  try,"  she  replied. 

"You'd  make  a  good  stenographer,  I  do  believe,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered. 

His  enthusiasm  mounted.  '  *  I  have  a  situation  open ! " 
he  cried. 

"You  wouldn't  find  her  spelling  perfect,"  commented 
the  Colonel  grimly.  He  laughed  with  immense  enjoy- 
ment at  his  joke,  and  at  the  moment  Beth  Blanchard 
came  out  of  the  house  and  joined  them. 

Ellis  did  not  see  her  at  first;  he  was  watching  the 
Colonel,  and  divined  that  no  great  barrier  separated 


70  The  Bamer 

him  from  the  aristocrat;  there  had  been  in  Blanchard's 
manner  nothing  that  expressed  repulsion — nothing  Hke 
Fenno's  coolness,  for  instance,  or  the  constant  scrutiny 
which  was  so  uncomfortable.  Blanchard  had  seemed 
willing  to  fill  up  his  idle  hours  by  speech  with 
any  one;  he  was  a  new  specimen,  therefore,  and  Ellis 
was  studying  him,  when  of  a  sudden  he  heard 
Judith  speak  his  name,  and  looked  up  to  meet  the 
gaze  of  a  pair  of  quiet  eyes.  With  a  little  start  he 
scrambled  to  his  feet. 

"My  sister,"  Judith  was  saying. 

He  bowed  and  endeavoured  to  speak,  but  he  felt  that 
the  beginning  was  wrong.  Beth  was  in  turn  dissecting 
him;  she  was  something  entirely  different  from  Judith, 
more  thoughtful,  less  headstrong.  The  idea  that  here 
was  an  adverse  influence  came  into  his  mind,  as  he 
stammered  that  he  was  pleased  to  meet  her. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Ellis,"  she  answered.  Judith 
noticed  that  Beth  on  her  part  expressed  no  pleasure. 
The  little  sister  had  individuality,  with  a  persistence  in 
her  own  opinion  which  sometimes  contrasted  strongly 
with  her  usual  softness.  But  the  incident  was  brief, 
for  Beth's  eye  lighted  as  she  saw  a  visitor  at  the  corner 
of  the  piazza,  hesitating  with  hat  in  hand. 

"Mr.  Pease!"  she  exclaimed. 

The  little  conventionalities  of  this  new  welcome  also 
passed.  Mr.  Pease  had  met  Mr.  Ellis ;  he  was  delighted 
to  find  the  family  at  home;  the  others  were  equally 
pleased  that  he  had  come.  But  when  the  pause  came 
it  was  awkward,  for  Judith  and  Ellis  were  clearly  un- 
congenial with  Beth  and  Pease;  it  required  the  Colonel's 
intervention  to  prevent  a  hopeless  attempt  at  general 
conversation.  He  drew  Ellis  away;  Judith  followed, 
and  Beth  sat  down  to  serve  Pease  with  tea. 

Then  the  Colonel  himself  withdrew,  on  pretext  of  the 


The  Progress  of  Acquaintance  71 

need  to  catch  the  mail.  He  went  into  the  library  to 
■write,  and  Judith  turned  to  Ellis. 

"  Can  we  go  from  here  to  see  the  land  you  spoke  of  ?  " 

"The  old  Welton  place,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know 
the  way?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  Judith.  They  excused  them- 
selves to  the  others. 

As  they  prepared  to  go,  the  Colonel  looked  at  them 
from  his  desk;  then  turned  his  eyes  on  Beth  and  Pease. 
A  thrill  of  wonder,  then  a  sense  of  exultation  seized  him. 
Attractive  girls  they  both  were,  and  the  men  were  the 
two  richest  in  the  city. 

Judith  conducted  Ellis  through  shrubbery  and  across 
fields,  up  the  hillside  to  a  spot  where  little  trees  were 
growing  in  an  old  cellar,  while  charred  timbers  lying 
half  buried  spoke  of  the  catastrophe  which  had  destroyed 
the  house.  "I  remember  the  fire,"  Judith  said.  "I 
was  a  child  then,  but  I  stood  at  the  window  in  the  night, 
mother  holding  me,  and  watched  the  house  bum  down. 
Mr.  Welton  would  neither  build  again  nor  sell.  But 
the  place  is  on  the  market  now? " 

"He's  to  marry  again,  I  understand,"  answered 
Ellis.  They  both  accepted  the  fact  as  explaining  any 
and  all  departures  from  previous  lines  of  conduct. 

"Would  you  build  on  this  spot?"  she  asked  him. 

"What  would  you  advise?"  he  returned.  She  swept 
the  situation  with  her  gaze. 

"There  are  sites  higher  up,  or  lower  down,"  she  said. 
"Lower  is  too  low.  Higher — ^you  might  see  the 
chimney." 

Ellis  noted  with  satisfaction  the  prejudice  against 
Mather's  landmark,  but  he  passed  the  remark  by. 
"Don't  you  like,"  he  said,  "a  house  placed  at  the 
highest  possible  point?     It  is  so  striking." 

"Couldn't  it  be  too  much  so ? "  she  inquired. 


7  a  The  Battiet 

He  turned  his  sharp  look  on  her,  willing  to  take  a 
lesson  and  at  the  same  time  make  it  evident  that  he 
welcomed  the  instruction.  "That  is  a  new  idea,"  he 
said.  "It  explains  why  that  chimney,  for  instance,  is 
unpleasant." 

"It  is  so  tall  and — stupid,"  explained  Judith;  "and 
you  never  can  get  rid  of  it." 

"I  understand,"  he  said.  "Then  perhaps  this  is 
the  best  place  to  build.  I  could  get  it  roofed  in  before 
winter,  easily,  and  have  the  whole  thing  ready  by  next 
summer.  Stables  where  the  bam  stands,  I  suppose. 
My  architect  could  get  out  the  plans  in  a  fortnight." 

"The  same  architect,"  queried  Judith,  "that  built 
your  city  house?"  There  was  that  in  her  voice  which 
seized  Ellis's  attention. 

"You  don't  like  his  work  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"Why,"  she  hesitated,  caught,  "I — you  wouldn't  put 
a  city  house  here,  would  you?" 

"I  like  the  kind,"  he  said.  "Stone,  you  know; 
turrets,  carvings,  imps,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  All 
hand-work,  but  they  get  them  out  quickly.  Kind  of 
a  tall  house.     Wouldn't  that  do  here  ? " 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Ellis,"  she  answered  quickly,  almost 
shuddering  at  his  description.  "Think  how  out  of 
place — here.  On  a  hill  a  low  house,  but  a  long  one  if 
you  need  it,  is  proper." 

"Oh,"  he  said  slowly,  thinking.  "Seems  reasonable. 
But  tall  is  the  kind  Smithson  always  builds." 

"I  know,"  answered  Judith.  Smithson  was  responsi- 
ble for  a  good  deal,  in  the  city. 

Again  Ellis  searched  her  face.  "You  don't  care  for 
my  city  house?" 

She  had  to  tell  the  truth.  "For  my  taste,"  she 
acknowledged,  "it's  a  little — ornate." 

"That's  ornamental?"  he  asked.     "But  that's  what 


The  Progtess  of  Acquaintance  73 

I  like  about  it.  Don't  the  rest  of  my  neighbours  care 
for  it  any  more  than  you  do  ? " 

"Some  do  not,"  she  admitted. 

"I  guess  that  most  of  you  don't,  then,"  he  decided. 
"Well,  well,  how  a  fellow  makes  mistakes!  One  of 
those  quiet  buildings  with  columns,  now,  such  as  I  tore 
down,  I  suppose  would  have  been  just  the  thing?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "But  Mr.  Ellis,  you  mustn't 
think " 

He  smiled.  "Never  mind.  Miss  Blanchard,  You 
would  say  something  nice,  I'm  sure,  but  the  mischief's 
done;  the  building's  there,  ain't  it?" 

"I  wish "  she  began. 

"And  really  I'm  obliged  to  you,"  he  went  on.  "Be- 
cause I  might  have  built  a  house  here  just  like  the  other. 
Now  we'll  have  it  right — if  I  decide  to  build  here  at  all." 

"Then  you've  not  made  up  your  mind ? " 

"Almost,"  he  said.  "The  bargain's  all  but  closed. 
Only  it  seems  so  useless,  for  a  bachelor."  He  looked  at 
her  a  moment.  "Give  me  your  advice,"  he  begged. 
"Sometimes  I  think  I'm  doing  the  foolish  thing." 

"Why,  Mr.  Ellis,  what  can  I — and  it's  not  my  affair." 

"Make  it  your  affair!"  he  urged.  "This  is  very 
important  to  me.  I  don't  want  to  sicken  these  people 
by  crowding  in;  you  saw  what  Miss  Fenno  thought  of 
me  this  afternoon.  But  if  there  is  any  chance  for  me — 
what  do  you  say  ? " 

It  was  the  mention  of  Miss  Fenno  that  did  it.  She 
sprang  up  in  Judith's  consciousness,  clothed  in  her 
armour  of  correctness — proper,  prim,  and  stupid.  And 
in  Judith  was  roused  wrath  against  this  type  of  her  life, 
against  her  class  and  its  narrowness.  She  obeyed  her 
impulse,  and  turned  a  quickening  glance  on  him. 

"Would  you  turn  back  now?"  she  asked. 

"That  is  enough!"  he  cried,  with  sudden  vehemence. 


74  The  Barrier 

For  a  while  they  stood  and  said  no  more.  Judith 
saw  that  he  looked  around  him  on  the  level  space  where 
his  house  was  to  stand;  then  he  cast  his  glance  down 
toward  those  estates  which  he  would  overlook.  His 
eye  almost  flashed — ^was  there  more  of  the  hawk  or  the 
eagle  in  his  gaze  ?  Judith  thought  it  was  the  eagle ;  she 
knew  she  had  stirred  him  anew  to  the  struggle,  and  was 
exhilarated.  Unmarked  at  the  moment,  she  had  taken 
a  step  important  to  them  both.  She  had  swayed  him 
to  an  important  decision,  and  had  become  in  a  sense  an 
adviser. 

Yet  aside  from  that,  she  had  stimulated  him  strangely. 
Her  enthusiasm  was  communicable — not  through  its 
loftiness,  for  from  that  he  shrank  with  mistrust,  but 
through  its  energy  and  daring.  She  drew  him  in  spite 
of  her  ignorance  and  misconceptions :  dangerous  as  these 
might  be  to  him  if  she  should  come  to  learn  the  truth 
about  his  practices,  he  thought  that  in  her  love  of 
action  lay  an  offset  to  them,  while  her  restlessness  and 
curiosity  were  two  strong  motives  in  his  favour.  She 
was  fearless,  even  bold,  and  that  high  spirit  of  hers  had 
more  charm  for  him  than  all  her  beauty.  He  did  not 
see,  and  it  was  long  before  he  understood,  that  something 
entirely  new  in  him  had  been  roused  by  contact  with 
her;  the  most  that  he  felt  was  that  he  was  satisfied  as 
never  before,  that  she  had  strengthened  his  impulse  to 
work  and  to  achieve,  and  that  with  her  to  help  him  he 
would  be  irresistible.     Yes,  he  had  chosen  well  I 


CHAPTER  IX 

New  Ideas 

A  PARTING  shot  in  conversation  sometimes  rankles 
like  the  Parthian's  arrow.  So  it  had  been  with  Pease. 
Beth  had  said  to  him:  " How  can  you  think  you  know 
life,  when  you  live  so  much  alone?" — words  to  that 
effect.  He  had  had  no  chance  to  defend  himself  to 
her,  and  in  consequence  had  been  defending  himself  to 
himself  ever  since.  Truly  a  serious  mind  is  a  heavy 
burden. 

Finally  he  had  come  down  to  Cheb  asset  to  get  the 
matter  off  his  mind;  at  least,  such  was  his  real  purpose. 
He  coloiired  it  with  the  intention  of  "looking  in  at  the 
mill,"  and  gave  Mather  a  few  words  at  the  office. 
Mather  had  been  working  at  his  desk,  as  Mr.  Daggett, 
the  Harbour  Commissioner,  had  found  and  left  him. 
Orders,  Mather  said,  were  piling  in  too  fast. 

Pease  smiled.     "Enlarge,  then." 

"Delay  in  profits,"  warned  Mather.  "No  dividend 
this  quarter." 

"Go  ahead  just  the  same,"  said  Pease.  "I  hoped  for 
this." 

Mather  began  writing.  "Come,  leave  work,"  invited 
Pease.  "I'm  going  up  to  the  Blanchards'.  Come  with 
me. 

"I'm  ordering  coal  and  material,"  said  Mather. 
"We  have  plenty  of  ore,  but  the  new  work  must  begin 
soon." 

Pease  struck  his   hand  upon   the  desk.     "Do  you 

75 


76  The  Barricf 

mean,"  he  demanded,  "that  you  are  writing  about  the 
enlargements  already?" 

"Plans  were  made  long  ago,"  answered  Mather. 

"What  do  you  do  for  exercise?"  cried  Pease.  "How 
do  you  keep  well?  I'll  not  be  responsible,  mind,  for 
your  breakdown  when  it  comes." 

But  he  made  no  impression  and  went  away  alone, 
climbed  the  hill,  and  found  the  Blanchards  on  their 
piazza.  Ellis  was  more  than  he  had  bargained  for,  and 
the  Colonel  had  never  been  exactly  to  Pease's  taste,  but 
they  departed,  leaving  him  alone  with  Beth.  She 
presently  noticed  the  signs  that  he  was  endeavouring  to 
bring  the  conversation  to  a  particular  subject,  as  one 
becomes  aware  of  a  heavy  vessel  trying  to  get  under  way. 
So  she  gave  him  the  chance  to  speak. 

"Miss  Blanchard,"  he  said,  when  he  found  that  he 
might  forge  ahead,  "you  said  something  the  other  day — 
other  evening — against  which  I  must  defend  myself. 
That  I  live  much  alone." 

She  remembered  at  once,  flashed  back  in  her  mind  to 
that  whole  conversation,  and  was  ready  to  tease  him. 
Tease  him  she  did  as  he  began  his  explanation;  she 
refused  to  be  persuaded  that  he  did  not  live  alone.  He 
might  enumerate  dinners,  might  point  to  his  pursuits, 
might  speak  of  the  hundred  people  of  all  classes  with 
whom  he  came  in  close  daily  contact:  she  would  not 
acknowledge  that  she  had  been  wrong. 

"You  are  your  mind,"  she  declared,  "and  your  mind 
is  aloof." 

He  would  have  grieved,  but  that  he  felt  again,  dimly 
as  before,  that  she  was  rallying  him.  And  he  was 
pleased  that  she  did  not  fear  him,  nor  call  him  Sir — that 
title  which  causes  such  a  painful  feeling  of  seniority. 
She  gave  him  a  feeling  of  confidence,  of  youthfulness, 
which  had  not  been  his  even  in  boyhood.     He  had  been 


New  Ideas  77 

"Old  Pease"  then;  he  was  "Old  Pease"  to  many  people 
still.  The  respect  in  which  young  and  old  held  him  was 
a  natural,  if  very  formal  atmosphere.  This  defiance  of 
Beth's  came  upon  him  like  a  fresh  breeze,  bringing 
younger  life.  He  threw  off  his  earnestness  at  last  and 
laughed  with  her  at  himself. 

"  Upon  my  word  ! "  thought  the  Colonel,  on  whose  ears 
such  laughter  had  a  new  sound.  He  looked  out  of  the 
window;  Pease  was  actually  merry.  "Second  child- 
hood," grinned  the  Colonel,  as  he  returned  to  his  writing. 

Beth  discovered  that  Pease  was  no  fossil,  and  began 
to  enjoy  herself  less  at  his  expense  but  more  for  other 
reasons.  He  could  never  lose  the  flavour  of  originality, 
for  his  odd  manner's  sake.  Even  as  he  sat  and  laughed 
he  was  upright  and  precise,  though  the  twinkle  was 
genuine  and  the  noise  was  hearty.  Then  she  rose  from 
the  tea-table,  and  they  went  to  the  piazza's  edge  together. 
There  they  discovered  Judith  returning  with  Ellis. 

"Come  away,"  said  Beth  quickly;  "there  are  places 
where  we  can  go.  They  have  not  seen  us;  take  your 
hat." 

This  was  wonderful,  slipping  with  a  girl  away  from 
other  people,  and  Pease  felt  the  delight  of  it.  Fleeing 
by  passages  he  had  never  seen,  in  a  house  he  had  never 
before  entered,  smacked  of  the  youthful  and  romantic. 
Beth  brought  him  out  behind  the  house,  and  thirty 
seconds  put  them  in  shrubbery.  She  led  the  way,  not 
suspecting  that  his  mental  vision  was  dazzled  by  new 
vistas. 

For  Pease  would  have  faced  Ellis  and  Judith  as  a 
duty,  borne  with  their  conversation,  and  returned 
home  without  a  sigh  for  the  wasted  hour.  Such  was  his 
conception  of  life — to  take  what  was  sent,  nor  avoid  the 
unpleasant.  It  had  gone  so  far  that  in  some  matters  he 
did  not  consult  his  own  feelings  at  all,  but  gave  his 


78  The  Bamef 

time  to  others,  recognising  himself  as  a  trustee  for  their 
benefit.  The  good  which  can  be  done  in  such  a  way 
is  enormous,  in  business  or  professional  matters  merely ; 
but  Pease  had  carried  the  habit  into  his  social  scheme, 
and  was  therefore  the  sufferer  from  his  own  good  nature, 
the  victim  of  every  bore.  It  was  a  revelation  that  one 
could  exercise  choice,  and  could  flee  (losing  dignity,  but 
gaining  in  romance)  from  the  unpleasant.  So  that 
boyish  thrill  came  over  him,  with  a  manly  one  besides 
as  he  felt  the  compliment  Beth  paid  him.  It  put  them 
on  a  closer  footing  when,  laughing  and  out  of  breath, 
she  sat  in  a  garden  seat  and  motioned  him  to  take  the 
place  beside  her. 

"Do  you  think  me  foolish ? "  she  asked. 

"  Not  at  all ! "  he  answered  eagerly. 

"But  perhaps  you  wished  to  stay  and  meet  Mr. 
Ellis?" 

"Not  for  anything!"  he  averred. 

Then  she  looked  at  him  soberly.  "What  do  you 
think  of  him?"  She  posed  him,  for  polite  vagueness 
was  his  desire,  and  he  could  not  find  the  words. 

"He  is "  he  hesitated,   "very — er,  pleasant,  of 

course.     Not  my — ^kind,  perhaps." 

"And  you  really  do  not  like  him,"  she  stated,  so 
simply  and  confidently  that  in  all  innocence  he  answered 
"Yes,"  and  then  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  off. 

"Neither  do  I,"  she  acknowledged. 

And  so  those  two  took  the  same  important  step  which 
Judith  and  Ellis  had  already  taken — of  showing  true 
feeling  to  each  other,  and  breaking  rules  thereby.  For 
Beth,  while  not  reserved,  chose  her  confidants  carefully, 
after  long  trial;  and  Pease's  habit  had  been  never  to 
acknowledge  personal  feeling  against  any  one,  least  of 
all  a  business  rival. 

"Judith   has   encouraged   him   before,"    said    Beth. 


New  Ideas  79 

"People  talked  of  her  when  she  met  him;  they  will  do  so 
the  more  now  that  she  has  asked  him  here.  Not  that 
she  will  care  for  that,  Mr.  Pease,  but  I  shall  not  enjoy  it." 

"Of  course  you  will  not,"  he  agreed. 

They  hovered  on  the  verge  of  confidences  for  a  moment, 
then  Beth  took  the  plunge.  She  looked  at  Pease  with 
a  little  distress  in  her  eyes.  "Judith  is  headstrong," 
she  said.  "She  is  discontented,  but  does  not  know 
what  she  wants.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  George 
Mather,  if  he  only  knew  how,  might " 

"Yes,"  said  Pease,  filling  the  pause.  "I  wish  he  did. 
He  is  not  happy  himself,  poor  fellow.  They  have  been 
intimate?" 

"Till  within  a  little  while.  But  they  are  both  too 
masterful.  And  yet  I  sometimes  think  she  has  him 
always  in  mind,  but  as  if  defying  him,  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Indeed  ? "  he  murmured. 

"I  hope,"  said  Beth,  "that  this  acquaintance  of  hers 
with  Mr.  Ellis  is  just  a  phase  of  that.  If  it  is  not,  and 
if  she  should — Judith  cares  so  little  for  people's  opinions, 
you  know." 

"It  would  be  very — painful,"  murmured  Pease. 
"But  it  has  not  come  to  anything  of  that  sort  yet?" 

"No,  but  I  know  Judith  so  well  that  I  don't  know 
what  she'll  do."  And  Beth  concluded  her  confidences 
in  order  to  draw  some  from  Pease.  The  sort  of  man 
Ellis  was:  could  he  be  called  dishonest?  He  was  not 
of  course  a  gentleman?  Pease  cast  off  restraint  and 
answered  frankly;  she  found  he  had  considerable  power 
of  defining  his  thoughts,  saying  that  Ellis  had  never 
been  proved  dishonest,  but  that  his  conscience  seemed 
no  bar  to  questionable  actions;  that  he  was  unrefined, 
good-natured  when  he  had  conquered,  rough  in  breaking 
his  way.     What  his  personal  charms  might  be  Pease  had 


8o  The  Bamer 

never  had  the  chance  to  determine.  Mrs.  Harmon 
seemed  to  like  him — but  one  must  not  judge  by  that, 
because — and  silence  fell  for  a  moment,  as  they  looked 
at  each  other  with  understanding. 

It  seems  simple  and  so  commonplace,  but  this  was 
one  of  the  talks  which  accomplish,  bringing  the  speakers 
together  as  nothing  else  can  do.  Such  talks  build 
human  ties;  Pease  and  Beth  formed  one  now.  By  the 
time  they  saw  Ellis  going  away  they  had  new  feelings 
toward  each  other,  differing  in  degree  and  result — for 
Beth  knew  friendship  well,  but  to  Pease  it  was  altogether 
astonishing  and  momentous.  When  Ellis  was  well 
away  Pease  also  took  his  leave  and  followed  down  the 
winding  road, 

"Tell  Mr.  Mather  to  come,"  were  Beth's  last  words  to 
him. 

So  Pease  went  again  to  the  mill,  where  Mather  was 
still  in  the  office.  Pease  had  little  finesse,  and  went 
about  his  errand  directly. 

"Miss  Jenks,"  he  said,  and  the  stenographer  van- 
ished. 

"Anything?"  asked  Mather. 

Pease  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Just  a  message," 
he  answered.     "Miss  Elizabeth  Blanchard " 

"Oh,  Beth,  you  mean,"  said  Mather. 

"Yes,"  replied  Pease.  "She  told  me  to  tell  you  to 
come  and  see  them." 

"Indeed?"  asked  Mather. 

"She  was  particular  about  it,"  Pease  urged.  "She 
meant  something  by  it." 

"Thanks,"  was  all  Mather  said.  "Now  these  enlarge- 
ments, Mr.  Pease.     You  meant  what  you  said?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Pease  impatiently,  and  closed 
his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "And  I  mean  this: 
Take  Miss  Blanchard's  advice.     Good  day."     He  went 


New  Ideas  8i 

to  the  door,  and  turned.  "Ellis  was  up  there  this  after- 
noon." 

On  his  way  home  he  did  little  thinking,  but  he  felt. 
He  had  touched  people's  lives  in  a  new  way ;  he  felt  the 
breath  of  Mather's  romance,  and  warmed  at  the  trust 
which  Beth  reposed  in  him.  Odd  quivers  ran  through 
him,  strange  little  impulses  toward  his  kind,  calling  him 
to  a  youth  which  his  life  had  earlier  denied  him.  It  was 
not  possible  for  him  to  understand  their  meaning,  but 
they  were  pleasurable. 

In  like  manner  Mather  gave  that  evening  to  musings 
concerning  persons  rather  than  things.  To  follow  his 
new  line  of  conduct  with  Judith,  or  (now  that  Ellis  had 
appeared  again)  to  turn  once  more  and  earnestly  pursue 
her — which?  Clearly  he  saw  that  Judith  would  go  her 
own  way,  would  play  with  fire,  would  even  burn  her 
fingers  for  all  that  he  could  do.  He  must  wait,  be  her 
friend,  and  having  once  said  his  say,  must  never  again 
bother  her  with  his  warnings. 

And  Ellis,  that  evening,  also  mused  upon  the  Blan- 
chards,  though  his  thoughts  were  very  definite.  On 
leaving  the  house  he  had  borrowed  the  newspaper;  the 
Colonel  had  asked  him  to  post  some  letters  in  the  city. 
When  in  the  train,  Ellis  turned  the  newspaper  to  the 
stock-market  reports  and  studied  the  Colonel's  pencil- 
lings.  Blanchard  had  underlined  the  names  of  certain 
stocks  usually  considered  skittish  rather  than  safe,  and 
had  made  multiplications  in  the  margin.  When  Ellis 
came  to  post  the  letters,  very  deliberately  he  read  the 
addresses.  Some  were  meaningless  to  him,  but  one 
bore  the  address  of  a  broker  whose  reputation  was  quite 
as  uncertain  as  the  value  of  the  stocks  he  chiefly  dealt 
in.  Ellis  did  not  cast  oflE  thought  until  he  reached  his 
house. 

Then  he  looked  up  at  the  Gothic  building  and  scanned 


8  a  The  Barricf 

its    various    projections.     "Ornate?"    he    murmured. 
"Well,  wait  till  the  inside  is  properly  beautified  ! " 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  when  he  entered  the  house  his 
feeling  changed.  The  great  hall  was  dim  and  shadowy ; 
seldom  aired,  it  seemed  cold.  In  front  of  him  wound 
the  huge  staircase;  to  left  and  right  were  dusky  apart- 
ments which  echoed  his  steps.  Since  he  first  built  the 
place  it  had  satisfied  him,  but  fresh  from  the  influence 
of  Judith,  suddenly  he  saw  the  house  as  it  was.  Empty, 
gloomy,  it  was  but  a  vast  artificial  cave,  without  life 
or  warmth.  For  the  second  time  a  wistfulness,  mis- 
understood, almost  bewildering,  came  over  him,  and  he 
wondered  if  anybody — somebody  ! — would  ever  brighten 
the  house  for  him,  and  make  it  a  home, 


CHAPTER  X 
Drawn  Both  Ways 

Those  youthful  promptings  which  so  stirred  Pease, 
far  beyond  his  own  comprehension,  kept  working  in  him 
through  the  summer  weeks.  The  joy  of  living,  which 
he  supposed  he  had  mastered,  appeared  to  him  an  altered 
thing,  so  that  its  object  no  longer  reposed  on  shelves  in 
his  study,  but  moved  serenely  in  a  cottage  above  the 
harbour  at  Chebasset.  Pease  accepted  the  change  with 
the  innocence  which  was  particularly  his,  and  followed 
his  new  chase  with  but  slight  idea  that  he  was  varying 
from  his  usual  course.  For  being  a  man  of  social 
preciseness,  he  was  given  to  making  calls,  and  made  no 
distinction  between  the  kind  to  which  he  was  habituated, 
the  so-named  duty  call,  and  the  new  visit  which  was 
made  for  pleasure.  Mather  wondered,  after  a  few 
unusual  appearances  of  Pease  at  the  mill,  if  the  banker 
was  overseeing  his  work ;  but  as  on  each  occasion  Pease 
went  farther  up  the  hill  Mather  put  the  visits  down  to 
the  right  cause. 

As  most  people  are  gifted  with  that  kind  of  insight 
which  the  manager  thus  exercised,  others  as  well  came 
to  note  Pease's  actions,  and  their  cause,  before  the 
banker  did  himself.  Miss  Cynthia,  who  spent  summer 
as  well  as  winter  in  the  city  (for  since  her  poor  people 
could  not  get  away,  neither  would  she),  came  early  to 
know  what  seed  she  had  planted  in  her  cousin's  breast. 
For  he  was  open  as  the  day,  and  without  thought  of 
concealment  told  her  where  he  was  going  or  where  he 

83 


84  The  Bartier 

had  been.  Miss  Cynthia  set  her  mouth  at  each  mention 
of  Chebasset,  but  as  they  came  oftener  she  began  to 
consider  if  she  should  not  have  to  give  up  her  chamber, 
the  best  in  the  house,  and  take  the  one  in  the  rear.  Or 
perhaps  it  might  be  best  to  hve  elsewhere  altogether. 
But  looking  at  her  cousin  one  day,  all  his  goodness 
seemed  lost  in  his  homeliness  and  lack  of  charm.  So 
she  smiled  the  grim  smile  of  pity,  and  set  about  making 
him  more  comfortable  at  home  than  ever. 

Mather  also  had  occasion  to  smile  thus,  when  one  day 
he  allowed  Beth  Blanchard's  word  of  advice  to  move 
him  at  last.  He  had  seen  Ellis  more  than  once  in 
Chebasset,  and  felt  uneasy;  Pease  looked  in  one  after- 
noon and  asked  him  to  go  up  to  the  Blanchards'.  As 
usual,  Mather  refused,  but  after  an  hour  he  started  up 
the  hill,  to  be  passed  by  Pease  coming  down.  They 
were  on  different  ways,  for  Mather  had  just  left  the 
high  road  for  a  path  which  would  save  distance,  when 
looking  back  he  saw  Pease  going  down  the  hill.  Pease 
wore  a  flower  which  he  had  not  had  before;  he  was 
smiling  cheerfully,  with  a  retrospective  air,  and  Mather 
smiled  also,  grimly  as  Miss  Cynthia  had  done,  at  the 
thought  of  the  late  plant  of  love  springing  in  the  barren 
soil  of  middle-age. 

He  went  on  to  the  Blanchards'  house ;  Judith  was  not 
there.  But  Beth  welcomed  him  and  sat  him  down, 
gave  him  tea,  and  talked  to  him  as  he  sat  half -silent. 

"People  do  not  see  much  of  you  nowadays,"  she  said 
with  a  tone  of  reproach.  "You  are  much  too  busy, 
George." 

"Oh,    well !"    he    shrugged    inattentively,    and 

Beth  might  interpret  as  she  pleased.  She  looked  at 
him  as  he  sat,  with  his  chair  against  the  piazza  railing, 
his  arm  across  it,  and  his  face  turned  to  look  out  upon 
the  bay.     He  was  neither  gloomy  nor  resigned,  but  bore 


Drawn  Both  Ways  85 

the  look  of  a  strong  man  waiting.  Time  was  not  of 
account  to  him. 

"You  do  not  worry  much,"  she  said. 

"Not  I,"  he  answered,  but  he  turned  to  her.  "Is 
there  anything  to  worry  about,  httle  Beth?" 

"Sometimes  I  think  so,"  she  replied.  "I  think  that 
now  you'd  better  stay  to  dinner," 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  more  carefully. 
"I  suppose  you  know  best,"  he  added. 

There  had  never  been  anything  between  these  two 
except  undefined  good-feeling,  expressed  only  by  the 
inattentive  conversation  of  those  who  have  often  met 
in  the  same  house  with  different  interests.  There  had 
existed,  besides,  that  consciousness  of  a  difference  in 
age  which  makes  a  few  years  seem  almost  a  generation, 
so  that  with  boys  and  girls  "sets"  are  separated  by  a 
bar  of  habit  which  prevents  an  older  from  seeing  any- 
thing in  a  younger,  even  after  the  passage  of  years  has 
brought  them  both  to  maturity.  Thus,  to  Mather,  Beth 
had  always  been  a  little  girl,  until  just  now  her  quiet, 
assured  carriage,  as  she  interfered  in  his  affairs,  opened 
his  eyes.  For  she  answered  his  last  remark  with  con- 
fidence. 

"Yes,  I  know  best."     And  he  believed  her. 

"Talk  to  me,"  he  said,  turning  still  more  toward  her. 
"I  have  seenjio  one  for  a  long  time.  Who  is  doing? 
What  is  doing  ?  "      So  Beth  talked  to  him. 

This  was  her  mission  in  Ufe — to  talk  people  into  cheer- 
fulness and  bring  them  nearer  the  rest  of  the  world. 
She  enjoyed  it  always,  but  it  was  especially  pleasant  to 
her  as  she  spoke  with  Mather.  For  he  was  real,  he  was 
big,  he  was  not  baulked  by  conditions  which  might  have 
been  too  much  for  him.  Estrangement  from  Judith 
was  not,  she  was  glad  to  see,  making  him  melancholy. 
He  seemed  in  good  physical  condition;  though  he  had 


86  The  Bamef 

not  gone  much  with  people  of  late,  she  had  seen  him 
from  her  window,  early  in  the  morning,  sailing  on  the 
bay  before  he  went  to  his  work.  It  was  not  Judith 
alone,  therefore,  but  work  also,  that  kept  him  from  going 
about.  All  this  she  felt,  or  guessed,  as  she  told  him  of 
little  matters. 

"It  is  too  bad,"  she  said  after  a  while.  "You  should 
have  a  mother,  or  a  sister,  to  tell  you  all  this." 

"That  Esther  Fenno  is  away  yachting,  or  that  John 
Watson  is  attentive  to  Mary  Carr?"  He  laughed. 
"But,  Beth,  you  shall  be  my  sister  of  mercy,  and  I  will 
come  here  oftener." 

"Come,  then,"  she  said.  "Some  day  there  will  be 
better  or  more  important  items,  and  you  may  be  glad  of 
the  bargain.  Or  if  you  happen  to  call  on  Judith  when 
Mr.  Ellis  does,  you  may  talk  with  me." 

"Couldn't  he  do  that?"  He  maintained  the  appear- 
ance of  jesting,  but  she  said  seriously:  * 

"I  don't  like  him." 

Then  he  put  out  his  hand  to  her;  she  took  it,  and 
Judith  came  upon  them  thus. 

A  pang  shot  through  him  as  he  rose  and  greeted  her; 
she  was  quiet  in  her  manner — his  coming  could  not  move 
her  in  the  least.  He  wished  he  might  feel  that  there  had 
been  a  flash  of  inquiry  in  her  first  glance  at  him  and 
Beth,  but  her  face  had  not  really  changed.  She  wel- 
comed him  kindly  enough.  "He  is  going  to  stay  to 
dinner,"  said  Beth.  Judith  answered  with  a  conven- 
tional "Good!"  Then  the  Colonel  appeared;  he  had 
brought  the  mail. 

"A  letter  for  you,  Judith,"  he  said.  "A  thick 
package,  rather." 

Thoughtlessly,  she  opened  it.  Ellis  had  promised  to 
send  her  his  house-plans,  and  for  the  purpose  had  had  a 
set  made,  much  reduced  in  size.     He  had  mailed  them 


Dfawn  Both  "Ways  87 

to  her  himself;  but  for  carelessness  she  would  have 
recognised  his  hand.  The  Colonel,  always  inquisitive, 
craned  his  neck  as  Judith  drew  the  plans  from  the  en- 
velope. 

"Plans!"  he  exclaimed.  "Are  you  going  into 
building,  Judith?" 

She  looked  at  the  upper  plan,  carelessly  as  before, 
though  the  red  came  into  her  cheek.  Then  she  put  them 
all  back  into  the  paper.  "No,  I'm  not  going  to  build," 
she  said. 

"This  reminds  me,"  said  the  Colonel,  "They  say 
Ellis  has  bought  the  Welton  place." 

"Indeed  !"  cried  Beth.  Her  glance  sought  Mather's; 
his  responded,  cynically  humorous.  That  he  should  be 
there  when  the  news  was  given !  But  he  turned  to  the 
Colonel. 

"That  must  be  very  recent,  sir." 

"It  may  not  be  so,"  replied  he,  "but  Kingston  is 
hopping  for  fury,  and  Dent  for  fright,  because  they'll  be 
his  neighbours,  Judith,  do  you  happen  to  know  if  the 
news  is  true?" 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  looked  at  the  floor,  "Yes,  it 
is  true." 

"Aha!"  cried  the  Colonel.     "Then  those  plans " 

She  looked  up  now,  and  flashed  him  into  silence, 

"I  think,"  said  Judith,  "that  I  will  go  and  dress  for 
dinner."  She  went,  and  Beth  went  also,  casting  a 
glance  of  sympathy  at  Mather. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  asked  the  Colonel  nervously  of 
his  guest. 

"I'll  stay  here,  thank  you.  Don't  let  me  keep  you, 
sir," 

"Thanks.     I  think  I  will  fix  up," 

Mather  smiled  scornfully  at  the  relief  the  Colonel 
showed.     Alone,  he  leaned  against  a  pillar  and  looked 


88  The  Barrier 

out  over  the  bay.  So  this  was  what  he  had  come  to 
leam !  And  being  here,  he  must  stay  and  put  the 
matter  through. 

It  was  a  miserable  meal.  Judith  was  furious  with 
her  father;  Beth  was  appalled  at  the  length  to  which 
matters  appeared  to  have  gone.  Mather  and  the 
Colonel  struggled  manfully,  and  spoke  of  matters  in 
the  business  world.  The  Colonel  inclined  toward  the 
subject  of  stocks. 

"Consolidated,"  he  suggested.  "Don't  you  think 
it  a  good  investment?" 

"I  am  leaving  silver  alone,"  responded  Mather. 
"I  consider  all  those  stocks  very  unsafe  just 
now,  sir." 

So  with  that  radical  difference  of  opinion  between 
them,  which  really  concerned  the  Colonel  more  than  he 
would  show,  conversation  languished  even  between  the 
gentlemen.  Out  upon  the  piazza,  after  dinner,  matters 
went  more  smoothly,  but  Mather  concluded  that  it  was 
wiser  to  "eat  and  run"  than  to  stay  where  constraint 
hung  in  the  air  like  a  fog.  So,  pleading  the  habit  of 
early  sleep,  he  took  his  leave. 

Then  Judith,  fearing  that  he  had  been  suffering,  roused 
herself.  "I  will  go  with  you  to  the  gate,"  she  said,  as 
he  offered  his  hand  for  good-by.  They  left  the  piazza 
together,  but  Beth,  catching  his  eye  to  signal  satisfac- 
tion, saw  him  shake  his  head.  Judith's  condescension 
could  no  longer  thrill  him.  Beth  felt  that  his  attitude, 
for  one  who  was  so  concerned,  was  strangely  like  that  of 
an  observer. 

And  Judith  felt  it,  too.  He  had  passed  through  the 
stage  of  eager  homage,  a  favour  could  no  longer  en- 
rapture him;  she  wondered  if  he  had  even  noticed  the 
incident  of  the  house-plans — whether,  after  all,  he  had 
been  hurt,  so  steadily  he  had  borne  himself.     When  they 


Drawn  Both  "Ways  89 

were  alone  together,  walking  toward  the  gate,  he  turned 
to  her  a  gaze  almost  quizzical. 

"Have  you  forgiven  me  my  chimney,  Judith?" 

Thus  he  drew  a  smile  from  her;  then,  for  the  first  time, 
he  spoke  of  his  mill,  but  left  her  no  burden  of  answering. 
The  walk  was  short,  and  he  filled  it  with  tales  of  his  men, 
their  weaknesses,  their  characteristics,  the  troubles 
which  some  of  them  had  confided  to  him.  But  he  said 
nothing  of  his  difficulties  or  of  his  growing  success, 
though  as  he  talked  she  thought  of  them. 

"Does  it  not  please  you,"  she  asked,  "that  people 
speak  well  of  what  you  are  doing  ?  " 

"  Do  they  ? "  was  all  he  answered.     "  By  the  way " 

"And  the  work  of  organisation?"  she  asked  him. 

"It  was  fun,"  he  said,  "and  not  difficult  at  all." 

"  I  can't  believe  you ! "  she  cried. 

"Nothing,  nothing!"  he  answered, 

"And  is  all  smooth  sailing  now?" 

"One  of  the  men  is  getting  up  a  strike,"  he  answered. 
"  That  is  all." 

"A  strike  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  So  the  older  men  tell  me.     A  little  one." 

"  How  can  you  take  it  so  easily  ? "  she  asked. 

He  smiled.  "I  think  I  can  meet  it.  Well,  here  we 
are  at  the  gate.  Thank  you  for  coming,  Judith.  Good- 
by."  He  started  away  briskly,  then  turned  back.  She 
was  looking  at  him  seriously. 

"Here  is  Jim  Wayne  coming  up  the  road,"  he  said. 
"  He  comes  to  see  Beth  ? " 

"Yes." 

"And  what  of  my  employer?" 

"Poor  Mr.  Pease!" 

"Mr.  Pease,"  repeated  Mather.  "There  it  all  is  in 
a  nutshell.  Jim  is  Jim,  twenty-three.  Pease  is  Mr. 
Pease,     forty-five.     The     young     to     the    young,    as 


90  The  Earner 

Salvation  Yeo  said.  Poor  Pease !  Good-night  again, 
Judith." 

And  this  time  he  was  off  for  good,  not  turning  again. 
Judith  returned  thoughtfully  to  the  house.  He  had 
interested  her — turned  her  back  a  little  toward  her  real 
self,  her  old  self.  No  small  part  of  the  effect  he  had 
made  was  caused  by  his  cheerful  self-command.  Did 
he  love  her  still  ?  She  thought  of  what  he  had  done  for 
Chebasset.     He  was  very  much  of  a  man. 

On  the  way  down  the  hill  Mather  passed  Wayne. 
This  was  that  broker's  clerk  who  always  nodded  to 
Ellis  so  carelessly,  whose  mother  Ellis  had  bought  out, 
and  whose  name  the  promoter  envied.  Handsome, 
thought  Mather  as  they  greeted;  on  second  thought  he 
added,  a  bit  weak.  But  Mrs.  Harmon,  looking  from  her 
garden  as  they  passed  on  the  road  below,  thought  that 
Wayne  was  handsome  without  qualification.  Thus 
those  two,  both  of  whom  were  to  influence  Wayne's  fate, 
thought  of  him  as  he  went  on  to  see  Beth,  Mrs,  Harmon 
followed  him  with  her  eyes  until  he  entered  the  Blan- 
chards'  gate;  with  her  thoughts,  still  longer.  Mather 
forgot  him  in  grieving  for  Pease,  the  poor  dreamer  who 
would  wake  too  late, 

"Beth,"  asked  Judith,  returning  to  the  house,  "where 
was  it  we  read  about  Salvation  Yeo  ? " 

"In  Kingsley's  'Westward  Ho,'"  answered  Beth. 
After  Wayne  had  come  and  gone,  she  noticed  that 
Judith  was  reading  the  book. 

"Do  you  like  it ? "  asked  Beth. 

"Romance — love,"  said  Judith.  "It  seems  un- 
natural." She  laid  the  book  aside.  "A  pleasant 
evening,  Beth?" 

"Very,"  Beth  answered. 

"And  Mr.  Pease?"  asked  Judith. 

She  saw  with  surprise  that  Beth's  eyes  filled  with 


Drawn  Both  "Ways  91 

tears,     "What  can  I  do  ? "  asked  the  younger  sister;  but 
expecting  no  answer,  she  went  away. 

Judith  took  up  her  book  again,  yet  held  it  without 
opening  it.  Romance  and  love  had  come  to  Beth;  why 
not  to  herself?  Judith  had  had  suitors;  and  true  love 
might  win  her  yet.  Was  it  to  be  found  ?  Such  lasting 
love,  she  meant,  as  it  was  certain  Pease  would  give. 
No  wonder  Beth  grieved;  any  woman's  heart  would  be 
touched  by  such  devotion.  Yet  as  Judith  thought  of 
her  old  suitors  she  could  name  half  a  dozen  now  married, 
having  forgotten  their  griefs.  But  it  was  Mather  who 
was  most  in  her  mind,  who  ever  since  his  rejection 
had  been  so  strangely  independent,  and  this  evening 
most  of  all.  He  had  shown  no  surprise,  no  dismay,  at 
the  sight  of  Ellis's  house-plans.  At  the  thought  Judith 
started  up  with  pique,  resentment — it  would  have  been 
hard  to  define  her  feeling  at  the  thought  that  Mather 
needed  no  one  to  sorrow  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 
An  Incident  at  the  Mill 

On  a  morning  when  Beth  took  her  turn  at  marketing 
she  met  Mather  on  the  street.  "It's  four  days  since 
you  were  at  the  house,"  she  reminded  him. 

"Is  there  really  any  advantage  in  my  coming  often?" 
he  asked  her. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  plaintively,  "But 
Judith  has  very  Uttle  to  do.  You  might  ask  her  to  visit 
the  mill." 

"Come  any  time.     Both  of  you,"  he  responded. 

"I'll  bring  her  this  morning,"  she  said  quickly. 

But  when  Mather  had  been  another  hour  at  the 
mill  he  forgot  the  engagement  thus  made.  For 
in  going  about  he  noticed  that  the  quiet  in  the 
place  was  different  from  the  bustle  of  ordinary 
days;  the  men  seemed  expectant.  Then  as  he  passed 
near  one  of  the  older  workmen  the  man  spoke  to 
him  tmder  his  voice. 

"Look  out  this  morning,  sir." 

"The  strike  is  coming,  Ferguson  ? "  Mather  asked,  at 
once  alert. 

"Yes,  sir.' 

Mather  returned  to  his  desk  in  the  office.  He  believed 
that  the  strike,  if  it  came  so  soon,  would  be  ill-planned. 
The  day  was  warm ;  all  doors  and  windows  were  open  to 
admit  the  harbour  breeze;  as  he  looked  through  the 
screen-door  into  the  mill  he  watched  one  man  in  particu- 
lar.    Though  the  fellow's  station  was  at  a  window,  he 

92 


An  Incident  at  the  Mill  93 

seemed  hotter  than  his  neighbours :  his  face  was  flushed ; 
he  wiped  his  brow  and  moved  nervously. 

The  stenographer  rose  from  her  desk  and  silently  laid 
a  slip  of  paper  before  Mather.  On  it  was  scrawled  in 
pencil:  "Wee  will  stand  by  you,  Mister  Mather.  Old 
Hands."  Mather  smiled;  he  had  but  twelve  out  of 
seventy  workmen  who  knew  what  strikes  and  lockouts 
meant.  Most  of  the  men  he  had  picked  up  where  he 
could,  training  them  himself;  he  had  no  idea  how  far  he 
could  trust  them.  Instead  of  giving  him  confidence,  the 
note  suddenly  showed  how  weak  his  backing  was. 

"Where  did  you  get  this.  Miss  Jenks?"  he  asked, 

"  I  found  it  just  now,  sir,  slipped  in  among  my  papers." 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered,  and  she  went  back  to  her 
desk,  pale  and  frightened. 

The  workman  whom  Mather  had  been  watching  kept 
looking  at  the  clock.  It  began  to  strike  eleven ;  at  once 
all  eyes  were  turned  on  him;  all  work  was  suspended 
during  the  slow  striking.  When  this  ceased,  the 
workman  left  his  place  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  office ; 
all  glances  followed  him,  and  the  men  who  were  more 
distant  left  their  stations  and  crowded  to  watch. 
Conscious  of  the  stir  he  made,  the  fellow  walked  with  a 
swagger,  but  a  change  came  in  his  manner  when, 
through  the  screen-door,  he  saw  the  quiet  manager  also 
eyeing  him.     He  knocked  on  the  door. 

"Come  in.  Stock,"  said  Mather. 

Now  the  main  entrance  to  the  office  was  from  out- 
side, through  a  short  passage.  At  the  moment  when 
the  workman  entered  from  the  mill,  Judith  and  Beth 
came  into  the  passage;  seeing  Mather  in  apparent  con- 
ference with  an  employee,  they  waited  until  he  should  be 
finished.  He  had  wheeled  in  his  chair,  and  his  back 
was  turned  to  them.     "Well,  Stock ? "  he  said. 

The  spokesman  of  the  employees  was  a  lean  man, 


94  The  Bamcf 

somewhat  wolfish,  with  an  eye  that  moved  too  much. 
He  seemed  a  talker  rather  than  a  doer,  with  something  of 
the  actor  showing  as  he  stood  by  the  door  and  folded 
his  arms.  He  spoke  with  an  important  air;  no  voice, 
Judith  thought,  can  be  impressive  if  it  is  not  clear. 

"I've  come  to  say,  sir,  that  we're  dissatisfied." 

"That  means,"  asked  Mather,  quietly  and  without 
rising,  "that  you  are  dissatisfied?" 

The  man  cleared  his  throat,  but  still  a  characteristic 
huskiness  remained.     "Yes,  sir,  I  am." 

"Very  well,"  was  the  response,  and  the  manager 
turned  to  the  stenographer.  "Miss  Jenks,  make  out  a 
bill  of  this  man's  time." 

Beth  clutched  Judith  by  the  sleeve  and  sought  to 
draw  her  away.  Judith  stood  still;  not  for  anything 
would  she  have  lost  the  sight  of  those  two  men  as  they 
watched  each  other. 

"You  discharge  me?"  cried  the  workman  with  ex- 
citement. 

"You  discharged  yourself,"  answered  Mather  steadily. 
"I  can't  have  a  man  here  who  is  dissatisfied." 

"My  grievances "  began  the  other. 

Mather  cut  him  short.  "Grievance  is  a  word  that 
doesn't  apply.  You  knew  the  conditions  of  work  when 
you  came;  I  have  changed  none  of  them." 

"Then,"  cried  Stock,  "let  me  tell  you  from  the 
men " 

"Stop  !"  ordered  Mather;  "no  one  speaks  for  my  men 
who  is  not  in  my  employ." 

"Just  the  same "  began  Stock,  anxiety  peering 

from  his  eyes.     Mather  interrupted  him  again. 

"That  will  do.  How  much,  Miss  Jenks?  Thanks." 
He  took  the  money  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to 
the  workman.  "That  is  correct,  I  think.  Good  day, 
Stock." 


An  Incident  at  the  Mill  95 

The  workman  was  visibly  troubled  at  the  turn  of 
events.  "This  is  most  improper  treatment,"  he  com- 
plained. As  he  turned  to  the  door  at  his  back  he 
ventured  a  threat.     "You  shall  see !" 

"Not  that  door,"  said  Mather  quickly.  "Remember 
that  you  are  no  longer  a  workman  here.  The  other  way 
leads  out  of  doors." 

"I  must  get  my  hat,"  the  man  said,  his  eye  now  truly 
shifty  and  alarmed.  For  a  second  it  met  Judith's,  and 
she  felt  that  he  glared  like  a  trapped  rat.  Nevertheless, 
under  Mather's  glance  he  moved  away  from  the  mill 
door. 

"I  will  send  for  your  hat,"  said  Mather.  He  rose  and 
opened  the  door  himself.  "Jamison,  Stock  is  leaving  us. 
Will  you  bring  his  hat  ?  " 

He  stood  at  the  open  door  and  waited.  Judith  looked 
beyond  him  into  the  mill,  where  machinery  rumbled, 
and  in  great  vats  huge  cylinders  revolved.  The  men 
stood  and  stared  at  each  other,  or  looked  at  the  door 
and  the  manager  standing  there.  Some  of  the  men  were 
shamefaced,  some  uneasy,  some  were  smiling — and  these 
were  the  older  hands.  The  man  who  had  gone  for  the 
hat  had  reached  the  door  on  his  return  before  any  sound 
rose  above  the  rumble  of  the  machinery. 

Then  Judith  heard  a  voice,  high-pitched  and  harsh. 
It  needed  a  look  at  Stock  to  make  sure  his  husky  tones 
could  become  so  sharp.  He  was  craning  toward  the 
door,  sending  his  voice  toward  those  farthest  away. 

"Now  is  the  time,"  he  cried,  "to  assert  your  man- 
hood!" 

Mather  took  out  his  watch.  "Yes,"  he  said,  and 
though  he  did  not  raise  his  voice  Judith  noted  its 
splendid  carrying  power.  "Now  is  your  time,  boys. 
Any  one  dissatisfied,  like  Stock  here,  can  go  with  him. 
I  give  you  three  minutes." 


96  The  Battier 

One  of  the  older  men  laughed  aloud,  and  standing 
above  a  vat  began  raking  in  it,  apparently,  with  a  hooked 
pole.  Others  turned  to  their  work,  yet  they  all  kept 
their  attention  on  those  of  the  younger  men  who  stood 
still.  Judith  felt  her  hands  grow  cold,  and  knew  her 
heart  was  beating  faster,  for  half  of  the  men  had  not 
moved.  Then  fingers  as  cold  as  her  own  took  her  hand, 
and  Beth  pressed  up  to  her  side.  The  older  men  stopped 
work  again,  the  man  above  the  vat  stood  with  pole 
suspended,  and  Stock  gave  a  little  dramatic  laugh. 

"One  minute  ! "  said  Mather  clearly. 

The  men's  eyes  were  on  him,  Judith's  eyes  also.  He 
was  calm  and  perfectly  confident;  he  had  no  word  to 
say,  but  he  seemed  massive  as  his  own  chimney,  and  as 
hard  to  move.  His  eye  roved  among  the  men,  then 
turned  to  the  office,  and  for  an  instant  met  those  of  the 
frightened  stenographer.  He  gave  a  smile  of  confidence, 
looked  at  his  watch,  then  turned  again  to  his  men. 

"A  minute  and  a  half !" 

His  voice  seemed  to  ring  out  a  challenge.  Before  it 
the  men  broke.  One  who  stood  nearest  the  door, 
smiling  feebly,  turned  and  shuffled  toward  his  place. 
He  gave  the  signal  to  the  others.  One  by  one  they  went 
to  work,  but  this  time  the  older  men  last,  until  the  man 
by  the  vat,  with  a  disdainful  sniff,  plunged  his  pole  again 
into  the  liquid.  Then  Stock,  reaching  for  his  hat, 
snatched  it  and  almost  ran  from  the  office.  In  the 
passage  he  fairly  crowded  Judith  and  Beth  against 
the  wall.  Mather,  turning  to  look  after  him,  saw 
the  sisters. 

At  once  he  closed  the  solid  door  into  the  mill,  cutting 
out  the  sounds  and  bringing  quiet.  *'  Come  in,"  he  said 
to  Judith.     "  How  long  have  you  been  there  ? " 

"About  three  minutes,"  she  answered,  entering. 
She  looked  him  in  the  eye ;  he  saw  that  she  was  excited, 


An  Incident  at  the  Mill  97 

and  flushed  under  the  admiration  which  showed  in  her 
glance. 

"I  am  sorry  you  ran  into  this,"  he  said.  "I  had  not 
expected  it  for  a  fortnight." 

"I  am  glad,"  she  returned.  "What  a  peaceful  spot 
this  will  be  for  a  while.  You  will  show  us  over  the 
mill?" 

"Not  when  this  has  just  happened,"  he  answered. 
"It  would  be  too  much  like  showing  off  the  animals  I 
had  tamed.     Will  you  excuse  me  ? " 

"I  must  see  the  office,  then,"  she  said.  "Open  your 
safe:  pretend  I  am  a  bank  inspector,  do  ! " 

He  laughed  and  introduced  the  sisters  to  Miss  Jenks, 
laid  out  his  books,  opened  the  safe,  and  challenged  their 
criticism.  Judith  had  never  been  in  an  office  before: 
the  excitement  of  what  she  had  just  seen  still  dominated 
her.  To  the  stenographer's  eyes  she  was  dazzling, 
enchanting;  even  Mather,  though  he  told  himself  that 
the  interest  would  pass,  was  deeply  pleased.  He  showed 
the  store-room  with  its  stock  of  sheet  metal,  the  yard, 
the  wharf,  the  coal-pockets.  Returning  to  the  mill,  the 
three  entered  the  office  again. 

"It  is  almost  twelve,"  said  Beth,  looking  at  the 
clock. 

A  new  interest  took  Judith,  and  she  did  not  hear. 
Miss  Jenks  was  at  work  at  her  typewriter;  she  realised 
that  Judith  was  watching  her — critically,  of  course.  The 
magnificent  Miss  Blanchard  must  be  above  such  a  thing 
as  typewriting. 

But  Judith  was  interested  rather  than  critical  as  she 
watched  the  clever  fingers  at  their  work.  It  did  not 
seem  hard,  and  it  fascinated  her  as  at  each  stroke  a  long 
type-arm  sprang  up,  reached  over,  and  struck  upon  the 
paper.  Letters  grew  to  words,  words  to  lines — and  a 
faint  glow  spread  over  the  stenographer's  face  as  Miss 


98  The  Baffler 

Blanchard  moved  forward  to  her  side  and  looked  down 
at  her  work. 

"You  don't  mind,  do  you?"  asked  Judith. 

Miss  Jenks  did  mind;  she  was  nervous  and  almost 
frightened,  but  she  stuck  to  her  task.  Judith  bent  lower 
over  the  machine,  knitting  her  brow  as  she  studied  its 
working.  The  regular  movement  of  the  carriage,  the 
flashing  type-arms,  the  flying  fingers,  and  the  result  in 
violet  print,  took  strong  hold  of  her. 

"There,"  said  Miss  Jenks  at  last,  flushing  deeply, 
"the  letter  is  ready  for  Mr.  Mather's  signature."  She 
drew  it  from  the  machine  and  handed  it  to  Judith. 

"Is  it  so  very  hard?"  asked  Judith,  glancing  at  the 
letter  for  but  a  moment,  then  fixing  the  stenographer 
with  an  earnest  eye.     "Did  you  have  to  study  long?" 

"At  the  typewriting?"  asked  Miss  Jenks.  "No,  I 
picked  that  up  quickly.  But  shorthand  is  not  easy  at 
all."  She  took  from  the  desk  a  note-book  and  offered 
it  to  Judith.  "Those  are  my  notes  of  what  Mr,  Mather 
dictated." 

The  pothooks  on  the  paper  meant  nothing  to  Judith, 
but  she  saw  that  they  were  very  few.  "Is  this  whole 
letter  in  these  signs?"  she  asked.  "Indeed!  It  must 
be  hard  to  learn."  She  looked  still  harder  at  the 
stenographer,  who  blushed  again  under  the  intense 
scrutiny.  Judith  was  thinking  that  if  this  little, 
anaemic  girl  could  learn  shorthand,  surely  she  could  do 
so  herself. 

"But  Judith,"  said  Beth,  interposing,  "you  are 
keeping  her  from  her  work." 

"The  letters  are  all  finished,"  murmured  Miss  Jenks, 
glad  to  turn  her  embarrassed  eyes  elsewhere. 

Judith  moved  to  the  typewriter  and  looked  down  at 
it.  Until  this  morning  she  had  never  seen  one  except 
in  an  advertisement;  its  shiny  complications  grew  more 


An  Incident  at  the  Mill  99 

attractive.  She  said  nothing,  but  Beth  smiled  at 
Mather  mischievously. 

"Try  it,"  she  suggested  to  Judith. 

"Oh,  if  you  will!"  exclaimed  Miss  Jenks.  She 
slipped  a  sheet  of  paper  into  place  and  placed  the  chair 
for  Judith.  "Will  you  not ? "  she  invited.  Judith  took 
the  seat. 

"You  can  begin,"  suggested  Miss  Jenks,  "by  striking 
the  letters  one  by  one.     You  press  this  key " 

"For  capitals;  yes,  I  saw,"  Judith  replied.  "No,  I 
will  try  to  write  without  practising      To  whom,  Beth  ?  " 

"Tell  Mr.  Pease,"  Beth  suggested,  "that  you  approve 
of  his  manager." 

So  Judith  wrote,  dating,  addressing,  and  beginning 
to  explain  that  she  liked  the  mill.  It — she  bit  her  lip — 
was  not  quite  so  easy  as  it  might  be,  nor — as  she  finished 
a  line  without  mistake,  and  released  her  lip  again — so 
very  hard  after  all.  She  became  interested,  forgot  the 
others,  and  talked  to  herself. 

"R — Where's  R?  Oh,  thanks.  That  was  not  hard 
enough;  it  scarcely  printed.  Now  Y — here!  Now  the 
end  of  the  line;  how  easily  this  runs.  Beth,  how  do  you 
spell ?" 

Then  they  laughed  at  her,  and  she  rose.  "Judith, 
it's  almost  twelve,"  said  Beth  again.  "Let's  get  away 
before  the  workmen  do." 

"George,"  Judith  said  to  Mather,  "let  me  look  into 
the  mill  once  more.  " 

He  opened  the  door  again.  The  cylinders  were  still 
turning ;  the  men  were  busy — they  even  looked  cheerful. 
And  but  for  Mather's  firm  hand  the  mill  might  at  this 
moment  be  empty  and  idle !  She  gave  him  a  glance  of 
frank  approval  as  she  turned  to  say  good-bye.  On  the 
way  home  she  was  so  silent  that  Beth  wondered  if  she 
were  moved  by  what  she  had  seen. 


loo  The  Barrief 

In  fact,  Judith  was  deeply  moved.  Never  before  had 
she  seen  such  a  sight  as  that  in  the  office,  and  the 
quaHties  displayed  by  Mather  had  impressed  her. 
Thus  to  stand  up  against  a  danger,  thus  to  handle  men — 
it  seemed  to  Judith  as  if  he  had  done  something  almost 
great.  His  coolness  and  success  were  heroic;  for  the 
rest  of  the  day  he  occupied  her  mind;  she  sat  on  the 
piazza,  even  at  the  table,  with  thoughts  visibly  ab- 
stracted, and  Beth  at  last  became  so  impressed  that  she 
sought  the  telephone  when  Judith  was  out  of  hearing, 
meaning  to  give  Mather  a  piece  of  advice.  But  he  was 
no  longer  at  the  office;  Miss  Jenks  said  he  had  gone  to 
the  city. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Beth. 

"So  am  I,"  sympathised  Miss  Jenks. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  him  to  come  up  here  this  evening," 
said  Beth.  "You  are  sure  I  cannot  get  him  at  his 
hotel?" 

"Very  sure,"  replied  Miss  Jenks.  So  Beth,  much 
disappointed,  left  the  telephone. 

Miss  Jenks  could  have  told  Beth  more.  When  the 
sisters  had  gone  from  the  mill,  the  stenographer  found 
in  the  typewriter  a  sheet  which  she  took  out  and  laid 
silently  before  her  employer.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  while, 
then — ^tore  it  up.  He  had  passed  beyond  the  stage  of 
treasuring  reminders  of  his  lady.  Only  the  day  before 
he  had  found  and  destroyed  a  little  hoard  of  mementos 
which  seemed  to  reproach  him  with  his  lack  of  success. 
Judith,  he  told  himself  with  that  grimness  which  was  a 
feature  of  his  self-control,  did  not  exactly  inspire  poetic 
dreaming.  So  he  destroyed  the  letter,  but  when  his 
day's  word  was  over  he  turned  reluctantly  from  going 
to  see  her. 

Miss  Jenks  saw  his  hesitation  as,  after  putting  on  his 
hat,  he  stood  at  the  door  and  visibly  asked  himself: 


An  Incident  at  the  MiU  loi 

'Which  way?"  To  the  right  led  up  the  hill  and  to 
Judith;  to  the  left  would  bring  him  to  his  cottage; 
straight  ahead  stood  a  trolley-car  ready  to  start  back 
to  the  city.  The  little  stenographer  would  have  been 
wise  enough  to  send  him  where,  at  that  moment,  Judith 
was  thinking  of  him.     But  like  a  man  he  blundered. 

"Hang  it !"  he  thought,  "she  doesn't  want  to  see  me 
all  the  time."  He  counted  up  that  he  had  seen  her 
twice  in  one  week;  Sunday  was  the  earliest  that  he 
could  go  again.  Also  he  remembered  Ellis's  house-plans. 
So  Miss  Jenks,  with  a  sense  of  disappointment  which  was 
both  personal  and  unselfish,  saw  him  board  the  car. 

At  her  house  Beth  scratched  a  note  to  Mather;  it 
contained  only  the  words:  "Follow  it  up!"  She 
would  send  it  in  the  morning.  But  after  dinner  Judith 
received  a  telephone  message  from  Mrs.  Harmon,  asking 
her  if  she  would  not  come  over  for  the  evening.  Judith 
consented ;  it  would  be  neighbourly  to  go. 

"Will  you  come  ? "  she  asked  of  Beth. 

"  Is  the  Judge  there  ? "  Beth  inquired. 

"He  is  in  the  city." 

"Then  I  think  I'll  stay  at  home,"  decided  Beth.  She 
forecasted  events  exactly.  Judith  went,  stayed  most  of 
the  evening,  and  was  escorted  home  by — Ellis.  "He 
came  down,"  Judith  vouchsafed,  "  after  I  arrived  there." 

Since  morning  Judith  had  been  softer,  gentler  than 
usual;  but  now  she  was  lofty  again,  with  her  old  manner 
underlaid  by  excitement.  Beth  went  sadly  to  her  room 
and  tore  up  her  note  to  Mather. 


CHAPTER   XII 
Forwards  Various  Affairs 

As  time  passed  on,  Colonel  Blanchard  watched  with 
interest,  mixed  with  solicitude,  the  love-matters  of  his 
daughters.  Judith's  affairs  were  going  to  his  satis- 
faction, for  though  Mather  came  occasionally  to  the 
house,  Ellis  came  oftener.  Ellis's  land  had  been  bought, 
his  house  was  going  up,  and  at  times  he  came  to  discuss 
his  plans  with  Judith.  So  far  so  good,  but  in  another 
quarter  the  Colonel  was  not  quite  so  well  pleased,  since 
the  visits  of  Jim  Wayne  to  Beth  were  becoming  very 
frequent. 

Beth  was  twenty,  Jim  was  twenty-one.  He  found  the 
way  to  Cheb  asset  easy  to  follow,  even  though  he  left 
his  mother  at  home  alone — for  the  Wayne  estate  was 
low  in  the  world,  and  summer-resorts  were  not  for  the 
widow.  She,  desolate  soul,  counted  her  dollars  carefully, 
and  encouraged  her  son's  belief  that  by  selling  the  house 
and  land  to  Ellis  she  had  made  herself  comfortable  for 
life.  "It  was  only  for  that,"  he  explained  to  Beth,  "I 
allowed  her  to  sell.  And  now  she  doesn't  need  my 
earnings,  so  I  use  them  for  myself.  She  likes  me  to 
dress  well;  she  says  I'm  so  like  my  father  that  she  can't 
bear  to  have  me  look  shabby.  And  it's  a  mark  of  a 
gentleman,  don't  you  think,  Beth,  to  look  well  ? " 

It  was  so  sweet  of  Jim  to  admire  his  father,  that  Beth 
could  not  bear  to  say  how  the  elder  Wayne  was  popu- 
larly regarded. 

"Why,"   snorted   Mr.    Fenno,    "what   he   spent   on 

I02 


Forwards  Various  Affairs  103 

clothes,  cigars,  and  wines,  would  have  provided  enough 
insurance  to  keep  his  family  handsomely." 

Fenno,  when  on  the  subject,  had  intended  to  make  it 
clear  to  Beth  that  Jim  was  too  much  like  his  father. 
Innuendo,  however,  had  failed  with  Beth — not  that  she 
was  unable  to  perceive  that  Jim  had  his  weaknesses,  but 
she  had  the  habit  of  championing  her  favourites  against 
her  own  judgment.  Thus  she  was  sorry  for  the  Judge 
who  had  chosen  his  wife  unwisely  and  could  not  make 
her  love  him,  and  pitied  old  Fenno  himself,  who  realised 
the  hollowness  of  the  world  only  after  he  had  drummed 
on  it  for  a  good  many  years.  She  was  fond  of  such  men 
because  they  were  weak,  weak  though  they  knew  it  not 
themselves,  though  the  world  called  them  strong.  And 
so  it  was  not  unnatural  that  Beth  should  take  into  her 
innermost  heart  something  still  weaker  to  cherish, 
because  she  was  so  strong  herself;  something  with  faults, 
she  had  so  few  herself;  something  which  would  get  into 
trouble,  for  she  was  so  used  to  getting  people  out.  She 
did  not  reaHse  that  the  young  fall  far  deeper  into  trouble 
than  the  old,  and  that  she  could  not  give  backbone  to  a 
man  who  had  none. 

All  this  is  but  saying  that  Beth.wise  in  the  affairs  of 
others,  with  her  own  was  not  so  gifted,  and  was  so 
mistaken  as  to  take  Wayne  at  very  nearly  his  own 
valuation.  For  Jim  had  a  dashing  air,  and  dressing  in 
the  fashion  was  the  mark  of  many  a  girlish  eye.  He 
went  smooth-shaven;  his  face  had  a  slightly  petulant 
expression,  as  if  complaining  of  the  world,  yet  at  times 
he  lighted  with  the  fire  of  optimism,  when  he  told  Beth 
of  the  things  he  meant  to  do.  And  thus  he  approached 
her  on  two  undefended  sides,  for  never  had  she  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  a  call  for  sympathy,  and  nothing  in  a  man 
did  she  admire  so  much  as  aspiration. 

Thus  their  affinity  declared  itself  to  them,  for  Jim 


I04  The  Barrier 

liked  to  be  purred  over  and  strengthened.  He  enjoyed 
teUing,  to  an  attentive  ear,  the  misfortunes  of  his  family. 
"That  we  should  have  to  sell  our  house  to  that  fellow 
Ellis!"  he  said  to  Beth.  "It  seems  too  hard,  doesn't 
it  ?  And  to  think  that  in  a  few  years  I  shall  be  earning 
enough  to  support  the  old  house,  if  I  had  it  still !  But 
when  a  fellow's  just  starting,  you've  no  idea  how  little 
they  pay.  The  business  world !  Ah,  Beth,  you're 
lucky  to  be  a  girl,  so  that  you  don't  have  to  rub  up 
against  life !" 

He  spoke  as  if  life  in  its  hardest  form  were  to  be  met 
with  only  on  exchange,  and  shook  his  handsome  head  so 
convincingly  that  Beth  believed  him.  She  enjoyed 
believing  him;  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  think  Jim  a  man 
of  the  world.  In  fact,  he  carried  himself  very  well,  with 
none  of  those  mannerisms  which  so  often  betray  inex- 
perience. Little  allusions  to  dissipation  are  very  com- 
mon, but  Jim  was  not  given  to  these,  and  in  consequence 
seemed  more  manly  than  those  of  his  set  whom  she  met. 
Of  course  Jim  took  wine  when  her  father  offered  it; 
believing  in  her  father  as  she  did,  she  thought  it  no  sign 
of  dissipation  when  he  or  others  drank  at  his  table.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  Beth  that  Jim  and  the  Colonel  were 
congenial,  with  more  than  one  topic  in  common.  For 
example,  Wayne  had  a  nice  taste  in  wines,  fostered  by 
his  lamented  parent,  and  could  discuss  with  Blanchard 
the  merits  of  his  '68  and  '72.  Jim  liked  the  Colonel's 
tobacco,  also,  and  never  failed  to  commend  it.  But 
most  of  all  the  two  enjoyed  speaking  of  the  stock- 
market  and  all  which  to  it  pertained.  The  Colonel 
always  asked  Jim  for  the  "news  of  the  street,"  which 
the  two  discussed  with  as  much  seriousness  as  if 
Jim  were  not  young  and  the  Colonel  flighty.  To  these 
talks  Judith  and  Beth  always  listened  silently — Judith 
because    she    knew    there    would   be   no   use    to    say 


Forwards  Various  Affairs  105 

anything,  Beth  because  she  did  not  suppose  that 
anything  was  to  be  said. 

Thus  when  the  Colonel  led  the  talk  to  Consolidated 
one  evening,  Judith  remembered,  but  Beth  forgot,  that 
Mather  had  advised  against  all  silver  stocks  until  they 
should  become  settled.  To  Beth  stocks  were  mere 
names,  unembodied  nothings  without  power  either  to 
wreck  lives  or  to  make  people  happy. 

"Great  possibilities,"  said  Jim,  wagging  his  head. 

"Must  go  up  soon,  I  think,"  commented  her  father, 
with  deliberation. 

"Sure  !"  Jim  assented  heartily. 

Such  incomplete  sentences  and  bits  of  slang  meant 
wisdom  to  Beth,  and  when  Judith  rose  from  the  table, 
the  younger  sister  still  remained  sitting  to  hear  what 
further  Delphic  utterances  might  be  made. 

"Always  said  Argent  would  slump,"  stated  the 
Colonel. 

"I  got  out  of  that  some  time  ago,"  declared  Jim. 

"Wise!"  Blanchard  said  approvingly,  not  knowing 
that  Jim's  single  share  had  been  sold  under  pressure  of 
necessity,  when  his  mother,  in  one  of  the  few  decisive 
moments  of  her  life,  declared  that  Jim  himself  must  buy 
the  new  carpet  for  his  room,  since  she  thought  the  old 
one  still  good  enough  for  a  couple  of  years'  wear.  Jim 
had  at  first  meant  to  have  a  good  carpet,  then  he 
decided  on  a  rug,  and  a  large  part  of  his  Argent  went 
into  something  Turkish,  while  a  little  of  what  was  left 
was  devoted  to  adorning  his  person.  One  small  share 
of  Consolidated  remained  as  an  investment,  and  Jim 
was  now  looking  for  that  to  rise  again  to  the  point  at 
which  he  had  bought  it. 

Jim  was  an  optimist  with  the  instinct  of  self-approval, 
and  being  "in"  Consolidated  he  had  picked  up  the 
expressions  which  had  fallen  in  his  hearing,  justifying 


io6  The  Barfief 

him  in  his  wisdom  in  buying  and  his  hopefulness  in 
waiting.  He  told  the  Colonel  what  Baxter  said,  and 
what  Winster  said,  and  especially  what  Bullfinch  had 
declared  in  regard  to  the  stock.  Now,  Bullfinch 
was  that  broker  with  whom  the  Colonel  had  his 
dealings. 

"He  said  'Hang  on'?"  asked  Blanchard  with 
pleasure. 

"Yes,"  said  Jim.  "And  I  heard  him  giving  Baxter 
a  tip,  sir,  which  I  will  pass  on  to  you,  if  you're  interested. 
He  said:     'Watch  Poulton  Mining  and  Milling.'" 

"Indeed?"  murmured  the  Colonel. 

"Now,  you  wouldn't  think  that,  would  you,  sir?" 
asked  Jim.  "  It's  down,  way  down ;  why,  it's  been  down 
for  a  couple  of  years  !  I  had  forgotten  about  it,  almost. 
But  now  I'm  watching  it  myself.  It  has  moved  a  little 
lately,  up  a  point  and  down  again.  Looks  as  if  some  one 
were  interesting  himself  in  it,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"May  be,"  assented  the  Colonel  judicially. 

"If  Consolidated  rises,  I'm  thinking  of  taking  my 
money  out  and  putting  it  into  Poulton.  What  should 
you  say  to  that.  Colonel?" 

"Where  is  Poulton  now?"  asked  Blanchard. 

"Twelve  and  a  half,"  answered  Jim. 

"Well,"  explained  the  Colonel,  "the  way  I  have 
always  looked  at  these  things  is  this.  If  your  money 
is  in  a  low-priced  stock,  and  it  rises  a  dozen  points,  then 
perhaps  you  double.  But  if  your  money  is  in  some- 
thing high-priced,  then  on  the  rise  you  only  make 
twelve  per  cent." 

"If  only,"  said  Jim,  "one  could  be  sure  which  stock 
will  rise!" 

"You  can  make  sure  by  watching,"  asserted  the 
Colonel. 

Once  Ellis  came  in  as  one  of  these  conversations  was 


Forwards  Varfows  Affairs  107 

in  progress;  he  stood  listening  while  the  two  amateurs 
finished  their  duologue. 

"Don't  you  think  so?"  they  had  appealed  to  him  at 
the  end. 

"Ah,  well,"  replied  the  master  of  finance,  "you  seem 
to  have  got  hold  of  something  there."  Then  he  went 
out  on  the  piazza  with  Judith,  leaving  the  enthusiasts 
still  more  cheerful. 

"Your  father  doesn't  act  on  those  ideas  of  his?" 
he  asked  of  Judith, 

"I  hope  not — I  think  not,"  she  answered.  "He  just 
likes  to  talk  with  Jim." 

"Dabbler !"  was  Ellis's  characterization  of  the  young 
man.  Meanwhile  the  dabblers  still  babbled  within  the 
house,  in  high  good  humour  with  themselves. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  the  summer  had  brought 
progress  to  Ellis,  in  fact  almost  intimacy  with  Judith. 
Their  closer  acquaintance,  begun  over  his  house-plans, 
had  been  materially  forwarded  by  Mrs.  Harmon,  when 
she  invited  Judith  to  her  house  on  the  evening  of 
Mather's  strike. 

Previously,  she  had  been  very  curious  to  know  how 
he  had  got  on  with  Judith.  That  the  girl  had  sup- 
planted her  as  chief  adviser  she  became  aware,  and  was 
in  the  beginning  a  little  piqued  thereat.  When  she  first 
saw  a  sketch  of  the  new  house,  her  face  fell. 

"Oh,  that  kind  of  a  house!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why, 
that's  all  very  well  for  a  man  with  an  income  like  my 
husband's,  but  for  you  it  seems  too  simple." 

"I  like  it,"  he  replied  without  explanation. 

"But  no  carvings,"  she  persisted.  "No  turrets,  or 
anything  of  that  sort." 

"No,  no,"  he  said;  "  this  is  the  only  thing." 

"But  really,  change  it!"  she  urged.  "Why,  it 
doesn't  represent  you.     It  might  be  anybody's  house !" 


io8  The  Bamet 

"The  object  isn't  to  attract  attention,  "  Ellis  replied. 
"Quiet  and  dignity  are  more  genteel."  He  quoted 
Judith  so  exactly  (all  but  for  the  one  word)  that  Mrs. 
Harmon  perceived  it. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed  with  some  chagrin.  "I  see, 
it's  Judith  makes  you  do  this.  Of  course,  if  you  want 
to  I" 

"Now,"  he  said  with  a  rough  tolerance,  "think 
it  over.  She's  right,  you'll  find.  A  city  house  down 
here  won't  fit.  The  giil  has  lived  abroad,  remember; 
she  ought  to  know." 

Mrs.  Harmon  had  reflected  and  acquiesced.  Com- 
mon sense  was  fundamental  to  both  her  and  Ellis,  and 
combined  with  more  frankness  than  was  usual  in  the 
Judge's  circle  kept  them  on  good  terms.  Ellis  had 
laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  while  he  urged  her  to 
consider;  she  had  not  resented  the  sign  of  their 
understanding. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "Judith  knows  a  good  deal,  and 
perhaps  I  am  wrong."  Right  or  wrong,  she  did  not 
intend  that  she  and  Ellis  should  fall  out.  Life  was 
dull  for  her  sometimes ;  she  liked  to  have  him  dropping 
in.  And  then  those  trinkets.  She  turned  the  bracelet 
on  her  wrist. 

"This  is  very  attractive,"  she  said. 

He  grunted  indifferently. 

"It's  odd,"  she  said  further,  "and  bracelets  aren't 
worn  very  much.     It  attracts  attention." 

"That's  what  Price  expected,"  he  responded.  She 
never  thanked  him  for  his  gifts  more  than  by  such 
commendations;  he  did  not  expect  more. 

But  she  was  on  each  occasion  interested  to  know  how 
he  got  on  with  Judith.  He  knew  she  kept  account  of 
his  visits  there.  "Go  oftener,"  she  urged  him  once. 
He  was  wiser,  and  refused.     "You  don't  follow  it  up 


Fotwards  Varioas  Affairs  109 

very  quickly,"  she  repeatedly  said,  but  "all  in  good 
time  "  was  the  most  she  could  get  out  of  him. 

"What  do  you  talk  about  with  her?"  she  asked. 

"The  doings  in  the  city,"  he  answered.  "The  big 
things  going  on  anywhere." 

"Does  that  get  you  very  far  with  her?"  she  asked  in 
surprise. 

"As  far  as  I  can  get,"  he  replied. 

She  thought  to  advise  him.  "You  don't  understand 
girls,  Stephen.  The  talk  you  give  her  isn't  what  she 
wants.  A  girl  of  her  age  needs — flattery,  you  know, 
and  nice  little  things  said." 

"You'd  make  me  into  a  Jim  Wayne,"  he  retorted. 
"A  monkey  in  a  Panama,  saying  foolish  things,"  Mrs. 
Harmon  drew  herself  up,  but  he  did  not  perceive. 
"Pretty  fool  I'd  be,  saying  the  things  he  does.  I  heard 
a  talk  of  his  and  Beth's,  and  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  he 
said — ."  But  Ellis  misrepresented  Jim  entirely,  having 
looked  at  him  from  a  strictly  personal  point  of  view. 
The  conversation,  harmless  as  it  was,  is  best  taken  at 
first  hand. 

"How  swell  you  look  to-night!"  Jim  had  begun. 
' '  Gad,  that  rose  in  your  hair — trust  a  girl  to  know  what's 
nifty!" 

"Don't  be  silly,"  Beth  replied. 

"Straight !  "  Jim  protested.  "Never  saw  you  look  so 
stunning.  This  moonlight  brings  it  all  out,  you  know. 
Poetic,  Beth,  on  my  word  I  I  say,  let's  go  down  on  the 
beach,  and  you  can  recite  me  that  thing  of  Tennyson's." 

"Shelley's,"  Beth  corrected  him. 

"Just  as  good,"  said  Jim  cheerfully.     "Come  on,  do  ! " 

Such  is  the  literal  report  of  a  conversation  which 
Beth  thought  highly  delightful,  but  which  Ellis  delivered 
with  some  distortion  of  manner  and  word,  calculated 
to  throw  discredit  on  Wayne's  attractions.     "Flat  and 


izo  The  Barrier 

silly,"  he  characterised  it.  "Now  if  you  suppose  that 
a  man  of  my  age  can  say  that  sort  of  thing  to  a  girl  like 
Judith  Blanchard,  you're  wrong,  Lyddy — Lydia,  I 
mean." 

She  seized  her  chance  to  show  a  little  of  her  true 
feeling ;  long  ago  she  had  asked  him  not  to  use  the  old 
nickname.  She  answered  coldly :  "  Of  course,  you  know 
your  affairs  best.  And  equally  of  course,  you  can't  do 
things  which  Mr.  Wayne  can." 

"Don't  be  hard  on  me,"  he  said.  "Wayne's  all  right 
in  his  way,  but  I'm  no  boy,  nor  is  Judith  like  her  sister. 
If  Wayne's  a  friend  of  yours,  I'm  sorry."  For  he 
divined  that  something  more  than  his  use  of  her  name 
had  caused  her  coldness. 

"I  scarcely  know  him,"  she  responded,  "But  let  me 
tell  you  that  a  woman  had  sometimes  rather  a  man 
would  make  a  fool  of  himself  by  calling  her  handsome, 
than  be  too  wise  in  his  talk." 

ElHs  had  no  answer  ready,  and  the  subject  dropped, 
but  before  he  left  he  made  an  attempt  at  conciliation. 
"You  see,  really  sometimes  I  don't  understand  myself, 
even,  or  the  girl.  I'll  try  to  remember  what  you  say. 
Keep  me  in  her  mind,  you  know,  Lydia." 

It  was  a  truth  that  he  spoke:  he  did  not  understand 
the  girl,  nor  himself.  He  still  prized  her  fire  and  dreaded 
her  theories,  with  each  meeting  he  admired  her 
more  than  ever,  but  he  was  finding  in  her  a  baffling 
reserve  which  taught  him  that  he  must  go  slow.  He 
could  not  win  her  out  of  hand;  some  spring  of  action 
in  her  there- was  yet  to  find,  some  ideal  which  he  must 
satisfy.  Might  it  not  be  too  high ! — and  there  lay  the 
new  uncertainty  in  himself,  that  he  was  not  sure  of 
conquering  her,  while  conquer  her  he  must !  For  she 
was  growing  indispensable  to  him,  all  thought  of  her  as 
a  commodity  had  fled,  and  he  was  now  familiar  with  that 


Forwards  Various  Affairs  iii 

longing  for  her  while  still  he  found  no  name  for  it.  The 
emotions  which  he  understood  were  his  own  ambition 
and  others'  greed,  he  had  no  knowledge  of  the  finer 
desires  which  can  be  roused  in  man.  So,  somewhat 
puzzled,  he  laboured  to  please  Judith  by  the  only  means 
he  knew,  with  far  more  success  than  might  have  been 
expected. 

Then  came  that  evening  when  Mrs.  Harmon  invited 
Judith  to  her  house,  where  Ellis  had  arrived  at  almost 
the  same  time.  It  irritated  the  girl  at  first  to  be 
so  evidently  brought  in  his  way,  and  with  Mather's 
achievement  in  her  mind  she  was  for  some  time  cool  and 
quiet,  until  Mrs.  Harmon,  with  great  self-control,  took 
herself  out  of  the  room.  Then  Ellis  brought  the  conver- 
sation at  once  to  familiar  ground.  He  told  Judith  that 
he  had  for  some  time  been  working  to  bring  about  a 
combination  of  the  cotton  manufacturers.  "We  can 
control  the  whole  section,  and  can  do  much  toward 
setting  prices,  if  this  can  only  be  managed." 

"You  mean  to  make  it  a  trust?"  asked  Judith, 
interested. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "But  some  of  the  operators  are  shy, 
the  contracts  and  the  sharing  are  so  intricate.  They — 
I — they  don't  know  what  I'm  really  at." 

Judith  failed  to  understand  that  his  reputation  stood 
in  the  way  of  complete  confidence.  "Can't  they  see 
that  the  combination  will  benefit  them?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "but  the  scheme  scares  them. 
It's  big." 

"I  have  heard  of  a  lawyer,"  she  said,  "a  New  Yorker, 
who  gives  his  whole  time  to  nothing  but  framing  agree- 
ments for  trusts,  and  meeting  the  corporation  laws.  If 
you  could  call  him  in,  couldn't  he  perhaps  make  it  clear 
to  the  others?  The  advantages,  I  mean,  and  the 
safety?" 


XI2  The  Barriet 

"Where  did  you  hear  of  him  ? "  asked  Ellis. 

"I  read  of  him,"  she  answered,  "in  a  magazine." 

"I  never  read  magazines,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 
"It  mightn't  be  a  bad  idea.  By  Gad,"  he  went  on, 
warming,  "I  think  it  might  be  just  the  thing.  A 
stranger  to  us  all,  he'd  be  able  to  give  confidence,  I  do 
believe.  And  there's  so  much  in  it ! "  He  turned  to 
Judith  with  energy.  "Could  you  find  me  that  maga- 
zine?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  all  her  coldness  gone  in  the  rush 
of  interest,  as  she  saw  herself  influencing  affairs.  "It 
is  at  home." 

"Let  me  walk  back  with  you,  then,  when  you  go." 

Mrs.  Harmon  entered,  having  heard  the  last  part  of 
their  talk,  having  listened,  in  fact.  "Is  that  the  sort 
of  thing  she  really  cares  about?"  she  asked  herself  in 
surprise. 

It  was,  indeed,  the  sort  of  thing  which  attracted 
Judith ;  no  wonder  that  there  was  a  new  light  in  her  eyes 
when  she  came  home  with  Ellis.  No  wonder  that  Beth 
tore  up  her  letter  to  Mather.  Judith  had  gained  an 
interest  in  the  future  which  put  quite  out  of  her  mind 
the  memory  of  the  trifling  strike  at  the  mill.  ElHs 
promised  to  tell  her  if  he  used  her  idea;  she  was  eager 
to  know  if  it  bore  results.  He  let  her  know,  before  long, 
that  he  was  working  on  it ;  he  would  tell  her  if  anything 
happened.  Judith  scanned  daily  the  reports  of  indus- 
trial affairs,  to  see  if  the  combination  took  shape. 

Thus  that  invitation  of  Mrs.  Harmon's  was  of  great 
value  to  Ellis,  but  when  the  other  tried  to  draw  nearer 
to  the  girl  it  proved  a  different  undertaking.  Mrs. 
Harmon  was  lonely;  she  wanted  companionship;  it 
irritated  her  that  Judith  and  Beth  had  cavaliers,  while 
she  had  none.  One  day  she  asked  Judith  out  to  drive, 
and  for  a  while  the  two  sat  in  the  victoria  glum  and 


Forwards  Variotis  Affairs  113 

stupid.  They  were  too  widely  different  in  their  natures 
ever  to  be  intimate. 

But  Mrs.  Harmon  made  the  attempt.  "Mr.  Ellis," 
she  said,  choosing  the  most  promising  topic,  "is  a  most 
interesting  man,  Judith — you  will  let  me  call  you 
Judith,  won't  you?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  answer. 

"Thank  you.  And  don't  forget  that  my  name  is 
Lydia;  Mr.  Ellis  calls  me  by  it  at  times.  Doesn't  he 
fascinate  you  with  what  he  does?" 

That  was  something  which  Judith  was  not  prepared 
to  admit.  "He  is  certainly  very  active  in  many 
matters,"  she  replied,  wary  of  what  she  said,  for  fear  of 
her  companion's  tongue. 

"He  controls  so  much;  he  plans  and  carries  out  such 
great  things!"  went  on  Mrs.  Harmon.  "Ah,  he  is  a 
keen  man,  my  dear.     Don't  you  think  so?" 

Judith  thought  so. 

"He  has  a  great  future  before  him,"  prophesied  Mrs. 
Harmon,  but  she  perceived  that  she  roused  no  answering 
spasm  in  Judith's  breast.  Therefore  Mrs.  Harmon's 
artificial  palpitation  presently  subsided,  with  some  sud- 
denness, and  she  had  the  feeling  that  perhaps  the  young 
lady  was  overmuch  for  her.  Before  the  end  of  the  drive 
Mrs.  Harmon  found  herself  obliged  to  say,  in  self- 
defence: 

"Driving  makes  one  so  contemplative,  don't  you 
think?  Sometimes  I  could  drive  for  hours,  just  so, 
perfectly  content  but  saying  nothing." 

Judith  confessed  to  the  same  sensation.  When  Mrs. 
Harmon  was  alone,  she  concluded  that  the  experiment 
had  been  fully  tried.  Later,  Judith  asked  her  over  to 
tea,  but  the  situation  was  so  much  relieved  when  other 
people  dropped  in  that  Mrs.  Harmon  lost  hope  of  a  real 
friendship  in  that  quarter. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Unsatisfactory 

Jim  Wayne  had  been  going  so  frequently  to  Chebasset 
that  people  were  beginning  to  talk  of  it.  All  foresaw 
the  consummation  of  his  courtship,  and  some  gloomy- 
shakes  of  the  head  were  given  to  the  subject. 

Beth,  the  older  people  said,  was  just  such  another  as 
Jim's  mother:  a  soft  woman,  without  the  power  either 
to  restrain  a  man  or  to  improve  him.  Such  unhappi- 
ness  as  the  widow  Wayne's  was,  therefore,  reserved  to 
Beth — while  Jim  should  be  alive.  As  Jim  was  weaker 
in  character  than  his  father,  and  therefore  less  dissi- 
pated, he  promised  to  live  longer.     Poor  Beth ! 

Not  for  these  reasons,  however,  was  it  that  Colonel 
Blanchard  took  serious  counsel  concerning  the  possi- 
bility of  interference.  For  when  the  inclination  of  the 
two  young  people  was  unmistakable  Blanchard  began 
to  consider  the  side  on  which  it  affected  him,  regretting 
the  hope  which  seemed  about  to  vanish,  that  Beth 
should  marry  Pease.  If  only  something  might  be  done  ! 
The  Colonel  sought  Judith  as  the  person  who  alone 
could  advise  him,  though  until  he  opened  the  subject 
he  had  forgotten  how  seldom  they  agreed  in  their  views. 
The  Colonel  was  often  conscious  that  his  calibre  was 
different  from  that  of  his  daughter. 

"Judith,"  he  said,  "you've  been  noticing  what  is 
going  on  between  Beth  and  young  Wayne?  You 
think  there's  something  in  it  ? " 

" If  there  isn't,"  she  replied,  "there  will  be  very  soon." 

114 


Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Unsatisfactory      115 

The  Colonel  took  a  few  fretful  paces  up  and  down  the 
room.  Then  he  stopped  before  her.  "What  do  you 
think  of  it?"  he  demanded. 

For  a  moment  Judith  considered  her  answer;  it  is 
unpleasant  to  say  things  which  may  be  remembered 
later  when  one  has  a  brother-in-law.  Nevertheless,  as 
usual  she  spoke  the  truth.     "I  wish  Beth  wouldn't." 

"When  Pease  is  ready,  too  !"  complained  the  Colonel. 
"Do  you  suppose  he  seems  too  old  to  her?" 

"Beth  likes  older  people,"  returned  Judith.  "And 
she'd  be  so  safe  with  him." 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Colonel,  accepting  all  sugges- 
tions eagerly.  "Yes,  of  course.  Now,  isn't  there 
something  we  can  do?" 

"For  instance?"  challenged  Judith;  seeing  that  the 
Colonel  had  nothing  to  offer,  she  went  on,  "I  never 
knew  how  to  interfere  in  anything  of  that  sort.  Of 
course,  you,  as  her  father " 

"Do  you  think  I  could ? "  asked  the  Colonel  hopefully. 

"It's  not  often  done,"  Judith  replied. 

The  Colonel  considered  the  possibility  and  shrank 
from  it.  Never  had  he  denied  anything  either  to  him- 
self or  to  his  daughters;  the  most  he  had  ever  ventured 
toward  his  offspring  was  a  pettdant  remonstrance. 
This  tone,  as  he  saw  himself  helpless,  he  took  now  toward 
Judith  in  default  of  Beth.  "It  seems  hard,"  he  com- 
plained. "I've  brought  her  up — you  don't  know  how 
much  thought  I've  given  you  two  girls.  And  now  she 
turns  back  on  me!" 

"Why  father,"  asked  Judith  in  surprise,  "how  can 
it  affect  you  so?" 

The  Colonel's  thoughts  rapidly  skirted  the  pit  which 
he  had  opened  for  himself.  It  is  a  long  way  from  the 
hope  of  a  rich  son-in-law  to  the  consideration  of  a 
daughter's  happiness,  but  the  Colonel  presently  covered 


1x6  The  Batfier 

it.  "Her  comfort,"  he  demanded.  "Have  I  nothing 
at  stake  there?" 

But  this  was  obviously  so  artificial  that  he  felt  Judith 
could  not  fail  to  perceive  it.  She  sat  silent,  and  the 
Colonel,  after  changing  the  subject,  presently  got  him- 
self out  of  the  house.  Perhaps  he  was  to  be  pitied,  if 
to  be  good-natured,  weak,  indulgent,  deserves  a  better 
reward  than  a  vigorous  daughter's  too-keen  compre- 
hension. Besides,  the  gentle  one  was  turning  against 
him.  He  nursed  his  grievance  against  Beth  for  a  while, 
then  at  last  found  comfort  in  Judith  after  all.  She  at 
any  rate  would  marry  money.  If  she  would  only  be 
quick  about  it ! 

And  the  Colonel,  free  from  observation,  sat  down  in 
the  shrubbery  to  study  the  newspaper  which  he  had 
brought  with  him,  in  the  hope  of  drawing  from  its 
columns  of  figures  information  which  should  tell  him 
where  to  lay  his  bet.  He  was  gambling  from  week  to 
week,  quite  as  if  he  were  laying  on  the  red  or  black, 
although  the  means  of  his  ventures  were  Consolidated, 
and  (following  the  hint  Jim  Wayne  had  given)  Poulton 
Mining  and  Milling,  besides  (a  little  discovery  he  had 
made  for  himself)  Tilly  Valley  Oil.  They  were  all  up  a 
point  or  two,  but  the  Colonel  was  not  entirely  relieved 
as  he  studied  the  figures,  because  more  than  a  few 
points  were  needed  in  order  to  make  up  for  the  slump 
of  last  week. 

A  man  puzzles  long  at  these  things,  sometimes;  the 
Colonel's  time  was  on  him  now,  making  him  very  peev- 
ish. It  was  hard,  hard  indeed,  that  both  the  market 
and  Beth  should  go  against  him. 

As  regards  Beth,  the  signs  of  her  feeling  were  unmis- 
takable. The  eye  of  blissful  brooding  which  she  now 
always  showed,  the  loving  consideration  with  which 
she  fulfilled   all  duties,   bespoke  the   thoughts   which 


"Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Unsatisfactory      117 

mastered  her.  She  and  Jim  had  been  drawing  nearer 
through  the  weeks,  a  graded  progress  of  Hngering, 
slow-mounting  ecstasy.  And  on  one  night,  one  star- 
light night,  Beth  and  her  lover  came  to  a  complete 
understanding, 

Jim  begged  her  to  go  with  him  to  the  beach.  He  was 
trembling  a  little  himself,  being  genuinely  inspired 
with  a  feeling  above  his  own  capacity  to  retain  long; 
she  felt  the  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  asked  the  favour. 
"Let's  get  away  from  here,"  he  said.  "I  want  to 
speak  with  you." 

So  they  went  down  to  the  beach,  silent,  so  absorbed 
by  what  was  coming  that  the  touch  of  each  other  as 
they  jostled  in  the  darkness  was  enough  to  make  them 
start.  Jim  had  chosen  where  the  proposal  should  be 
made,  a  nook  beneath  a  bank  where  they  had  often  sat 
by  moonlight;  but  this  was  starlight,  and  no  one  was 
to  see. 

They  sat  beneath  the  bank;  the  dry  sand  made  a  soft 
seat,  the  breath  of  the  salt-water  quickened  their  spirits, 
the  lapping  of  little  waves  spoke  to  them  with  a  murmur 
of  far  away  things.  Their  two  hearts  beat  like  four; 
Beth  felt  that  she  was  breathless,  Jim  knew  that  he 
was  wordless,  and  a  long  pause  followed  their  arrival. 
At  last  Jim  found  that  he  could  speak. 

"How  quiet  it  is!" 

"And  how  lovely!" 

He  felt  that  this  was  mere  temporising.  "We've 
sat  here  a  good  many  times,"  he  began  again.  "Haven't 
we,  Beth?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  feeling  that  it  was  coming. 

"I — it's  been  great  fun  to  see  so  much  of  you,"  he 
went  on,  "but  it's  got  to  come  to  an  end  before  long." 

"Really?"  asked  Beth  weakly,  all  natural  power  of 
response  completely  lost. 


ii8  The  Battier 

"It's  too  much  to  stand,  you  know,"  asserted  Jim. 
"I've — you've  made  me  greedy,  Beth.  Either  I  want 
it  all,  or  none  at  all." 

She  answered  nothing,  though  he  listened.  Ah,  it 
was  a  mistake  to  propose  in  the  dark,  for  he  lost  the  sight 
of  her  sweet  face. 

"Either  to  come,  I  mean,"  he  went  on  again,  "when- 
ever I  want,  or  never  again,  Beth." 

"Jim!"  she  murmured. 

"Shall  I  go  away?"  he  asked.  "Or  shall  we  just  go 
on  meeting — every  day — forever — till  death  do  us  part  ?" 
he  concluded,  satisfied  that  he  had  expressed  the  im- 
mutability of  his  sentiments.  Getting  no  answer,  he 
reached  for  Beth's  hands  in  the  darkness,  and  found 
the  little  fluttering  things  just  coming  toward  him. 
Then  he  enfolded  her  and  drew  her  to  him,  and  what 
was  said  after  that  was  too  broken  to  be  set  down  in 
type. 

Thus  was  accomplished,  and  very  creditably  to  Jim, 
the  understanding  which  had  been  long  in  coming,  and 
Beth  whispered  to  him  the  wonderful  words,  "I  love 
you ! "  Her  little  cup  was  more  than  full ;  her  happiness 
overflowed  her  heart  and  found  a  somewhat  larger 
receptacle  waiting  for  it,  namely  her  mind,  in  which  it 
seemed  somewhat  thin.  Even  as  she  yielded  herself  to 
Wayne's  embrace  Beth's  two  natures  declared  them- 
selves not  in  accord,  now  when  the  test  was  applied. 
Kisses  were  strangely  fleshly  things;  Beth  shrank 
beneath  Jim's  eagerness;  poetry  vanished  before  the 
fierceness  of  his  embrace.  This  was  not  a  communion 
of  spirit  with  spirit ;  Jim  did  not  speak  with  fervour  of 
his  relief  from  his  trials  and  his  fears.  The  tremolo  of 
praise  which  her  heart  was  prepared  to  utter  found  no 
response  in  his;  the  deeper  thoughts  were  hers  alone. 
She  had  thought  admission  to  the  treasures  of  Jim's 


"Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Unsatisfactory      119 

mind  would  mean  so  much,  and  now  his  exultation 
oppressed  her,  while  she  winced  beneath  his  physical 
delight. 

Thus  Beth,  who  had  thought  to  sit  hand  in  hand  in 
deep  communion,  discovered  that  there  was  in  Jim  as 
man  what  was  lacking  in  her  as  woman,  and  before  long 
she  led  him  home.  Jim  went  with  reluctance;  it  was 
too  sweet  to  hold  and  kiss  her;  she  was  a  morsel  far 
finer  than  had  yet  come  to  him,  and  he  failed  to  under- 
stand her  purity,  as  the  farmer's  boy  cannot  compre- 
hend the  rebellion  of  a  peach  at  being  eaten. 

Nor  did  Jim  quite  fall  in  with  Beth's  ideas,  which 
she  detailed  to  him  as  she  neared  the  house.  Tell  her 
father  and  sister,  of  course,  and  after  that,  why  not  tell 
everybody  else?  Beth  wished  for  a  month  or  two  of 
Jim  to  herself,  and  to  rush  into  the  world  flaunting  her 
happiness  as  if  it  were  an  achievement  was  not  in  her 
nature,  so  she  begged  of  Jim  this  respite. 

"It  won't  be  news  to  any  one  by  that  time,"  he 
grumbled, 

"But  to  oblige  me,  Jim?  And  really,  never  again  can 
we  have  ourselves  quite  to  ourselves."  In  their  walk 
up  the  hill  Beth  had  found  time  to  tell  herself  that  she 
was  wrong  to  be  so  timid  in  Jim's  embrace ;  that  perhaps 
it  was  natural,  but  that  every  other  girl  felt  so  at  first, 
and  the  feeling  would  pass.  Thus  she  meant  what  she 
said  about  having  him  to  herself;  and  Jim,  turning  and 
catching  her,  declared  that  there  never  was  a  sweeter 
little  thing,  that  he  must  have  a  kiss,  and  that  he 
would  agree. 

The  Colonel  and  Judith  had  been  sitting  quite  stolidly, 
back  to  back  beside  the  lamp.  But  while  the  Colonel 
was  oblivious  to  what  was  going  on,  Judith  had  been 
keenly  alive  to  it.  She  had  recognised  the  tremor  in 
Jim's  voice  as  he  begged  for  the  interview;  how  many 


I30  The  Batticf 

such  requests  had  been  made  of  her!  Yet  having 
always  gone  to  a  proposal  as  a  surgeon  to  an  operation, 
to  remove  painfully  yet  kindly  the  cause  of  a  disease, 
Judith  knew  how  different  her  sensations  had  been 
from  those  of  Beth,  as  she  went,  shrinking,  to  meet  her 
happiness.  During  the  half -hour  that  they  were  away, 
Judith  imagined  the  bliss  of  those  other  two,  and  knew 
that  however  simple  it  was,  it  was  enviable.  Then 
when  Beth  returned,  Judith  started  for  very  joy  at 
the  sight  of  her  radiant  face. 

Very  prettily  Beth  went  and  kissed  her  father,  and 
stammered  that  there  was  something  to  tell  him,  for 
she  and  Jim  now  understood  each  other.  It  seemed  to 
Beth  natural  that  Judith  should  speak  slowly,  apparently 
choosing  her  words — but  that  the  Colonel  should  wait 
until  Judith  had  finished  speaking,  and  then  should 
burst  out  with  more  than  Beth  had  expected  him  to 
say,  as  if  to  cover  up  less  than  she  had  expected  him  to 
feel,  struck  cold  to  Beth's  warm  little  heart,  and  op- 
pressed much  of  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  She 
had  scarcely  recovered  from  it  when  train-time  came, 
and  with  it  Jim's  good-by,  almost  violent — and  the 
evening  was  over. 

Poor  little  Beth,  kneeling  at  your  bedside,  praying 
for  one  who,  instead  of  hastening  home  to  tell  his  mother, 
stays  at  the  club  till  after  midnight — poor  little  Beth, 
a  white  figure  in  the  pale  light  of  the  late-rising  moon, 
go  to  bed  and  dream  the  dreams  of  yesterday.  It 
would  be  happier  so. 

But  sleep  avoided  her.  So  many  thoughts  passed 
through  her  mind,  of  the  reality  which  had  come  to 
her — a  reality  like  others,  hard  in  places — that  Beth 
lay  wakeful.  She  heard  the  clock  strike  eleven,  heard 
her  father  and  Judith  come  upstairs  and  say  good-night, 
heard  the  two  go  to  their  rooms.     They  had  said  so 


Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Unsatisfactory      121 

little  to  her,  so  little,  and  she  was  so  lonesome !  But  in 
a  few  minutes  a  door  opened,  footsteps  approached, 
and  Judith  stood  by  her  sister's  side.  Beth  stretched 
up  her  arms  and  drew  her  down. 

"Talk  to  me,"  Judith  murmured.  "Tell  me  about 
it,  about  him." 

Ah,  this  was  sisterly  and  sweet !  Beth  had  some- 
times thought  her  sister  cold;  never  would  she  do  so 
again.  She  told  her  happy  thoughts,  not  those  vague 
suggestions  of  a  difficult  future  or  imperfect  under- 
standing. Her  Jim  was  such  a  man !  Her  own  words 
gave  her  confidence;  clasped  in  Judith's  arms,  Beth 
poured  out  her  hopes;  more  yet,  she  spoke  of  her  fears 
in  order  to  smile  them  away.  She  would  face  hard- 
ships, would  bear  what  griefs  the  world  might  send, 
secure  in  her  great  love.  And  Judith,  listening,  mur- 
mured her  agreement,  her  sympathy,  her  joy. 

Then  when  Judith  said  good-night,  she  was  held  still 
closer  for  a  moment.  "I  wish  you  the  same  good 
fortune,  dear  !"     Beth  kissed  her,  and  released  her. 

Beth  slept  at  last;  it  was  Judith  who  was  wakeful. 
The  same  good  fortune? 

Judith  mused  upon  love.  It  was  love  which  so 
blinded  Beth's  eyes  and  brought  this  ineffable  happiness. 
Poor  Beth !  Yet  Judith  did  not  even  smile  with  pity, 
for  her  nature  told  her  that  this  love  of  Beth's,  should 
it  but  last,  would  be  more  of  a  help,  a  guide' and  strength, 
than  all  of  Judith's  own  knowledge.  And  repeating 
Beth's  words,  "the  same  good  fortune,"  Judith  wished 
for  that  happiness  to  come  to  her.  To  love  a  man,  to 
believe  in  him,  give  herself  to  him:  that  would  solve 
the  problem  of  a  future  which  often  seemed  too  cold. 

She  recognised  perfectly  the  drift  of  her  feelings 
toward  Ellis.  Yet  her  enthusiasm  for  him  was  an 
impulse  of  the  head  rather  than  the  heart;  it  was  not  a 


122  The  Barrier 

passion,  but  a  state  of  mind.  How  much  finer  was 
Beth's  perfect  self-forgetfulness !  And  fearing  that 
ElHs  could  never  rouse  her  to  a  greater  height  than  this 
intellectual  approval,  Judith's  thoughts  turned  regret- 
fully toward  Mather.  In  all  the  years  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, why  had  he  never  made  her  love  him  ?  Well,  that 
was  past !  But  Judith,  softened  by  this  contact  with 
Beth's  happiness,  and  perceiving  that  the  fascination 
of  Ellis's  personality  was  slowly  growing  on  her,  looked 
with  regret  upon  the  prospect  of  a  merely  rational 
union. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
Mr.  Pease  Intrudes  Upon  a  Secret 

The  summer  passed;  through  October  the  city- 
gathered  its  own  to  itself  again.  The  stay-at-homes, 
such  as  Miss  Cynthia  and  Mrs.  Wayne,  saw  with  relief 
shutters  go  down  and  blinds  open,  saw  awnings  spread 
over  southern  windows  and  children  playing  on  lawns. 
Poor  Mrs.  Wayne,  threatened  with  the  loss  of  her  treas- 
ure, could  call  less  formally  upon  her  daughter-in- 
law-to-be,  yet  could  not  quite  reconcile  herself  with 
matters  as  they  stood.  But  that  is  the  way  of  mothers. 
Jim  began  to  urge  that  the  engagement  be  announced, 
but  Beth  put  him  off  for  another  little  while. 

And  now  Pease  found  comfort  in  the  thought  of  Beth's 
return,  since  it  would  give  him  his  innocent  pleasure 
without  journeys  or  the  neglect  of  business.  His 
winter  clothes  were  chosen  with  unusual  care,  nor  did 
he  this  time  repel  the  tailor's  semi-annual  attempt  to 
give  him  a  more  youthful  appearance.  At  his  home 
Pease  became  a  new  man,  and  Miss  Cynthia  sneered 
as  she  fastened  the  charge  upon  him. 

"More  colour  in  your  neckties!"  she  sniffed  dis- 
dainfully. 

He  smiled,  untroubled.  "Yes;  they  tell  me  it's  to 
be  quite  proper,  this  fall." 

Astonishment  prevented  her  from  speaking;  never 
before  had  he  deserted  the  middle  ground  of  fashion. 
Thus  the  lighter  shade  of  his  new  overcoat  was  a  sign, 
his  wearing  of  tan  shoes  a  portent.     And  his  very  car- 

123 


124  The  Bafficf 

riage  was  different,  as  of  a  man  who  has  at  last  found 
the  spring  of  youth  and  drinks  of  it  daily.  His  manner- 
isms were  softening,  he  took  more  interest  in  social  news, 
and  an  undercurrent  of  thought  always  swayed  his  mind 
in  the  direction  where  knowledge  or  imagination  placed 
Beth   Blanchard, 

There  was  stupidity  in  Pease,  for  he  did  not  find  the 
meaning  of  the  existence  of  Jim  Wayne.  But  very 
slowly  he  discovered  the  reason  for  his  own  sensations. 
He  met  Beth  first  in  April ;  by  the  middle  of  the  summer 
he  knew  that  she  attracted  him  extremely;  a  month 
later  he  acknowledged  that  he  was  going  to  Chebasset 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  her;  upon  her  return  to  Stirling 
he  felt  continual  odd  thoracic  sensations  which  seemed 
to  make  him  a  living  compass,  pointing  always  to  Beth. 
After  a  fortnight  of  this  sort  of  thing  he  waked  one  day 
from  a  reverie  of  her,  to  realise  that  he  loved  her.  The 
discovery  affected  him  with  vertigo;  he  had  to  seek  the 
air  and  think  the  matter  over.  In  about  a  week  he 
became  familiar  with  the  situation  and  accepted  it.  He 
paused  one  evening  before  his  motto  from  Goethe,  and 
smiled  to  think  that  he  had  once  considered  the  end 
of  happiness  to  be  mere  culture. 

Loving  Beth,  he  did  not  at  first  include  her  in  his 
hopes.  There  was  such  delight  in  contemplating  a 
definite  image  in  absence,  such  satisfaction  in  watching 
Beth  herself  when  present,  that  for  some  time  he  went 
no  further.  He  made  it  clear  to  Beth  that  he  was 
always  willing  to  attempt  anything  she  desired,  and  then 
from  time  to  time  looked  in  on  her  and  adored.  Yet 
the  humanising  process  eventually  proceeded.  Gazing 
at  his  idol  until  its  every  perfection  was  known  to  him, 
at  last  there  came  the  question:  Why  not  possess  it? 
And  this  worked  on  him  so  that  in  the  end  he  became 
extremely  determined. 


Mr.  Pease  Intrudes  Upon  a  Secret  125 

So  gentle  was  the  increase  of  his  attentions  that  Beth 
did  not  at  first  take  the  alarm.  At  home,  no  abstraction 
betrayed  him  to  Miss  Cynthia,  who  thought  that  he 
had  resigned  himself.  He  was  more  lively,  normal 
than  ever  before,  and  only  Mather  suspected  in  him 
the  determination  to  do  or  die.  The  change  of  the 
scene  of  operations  from  Chebasset  to  the  city,  how- 
ever, gave  Mather  no  chance  to  keep  abreast  of  the 
march  of  events,  since  the  manager  still  spent  most  of 
his  days  and  nights  at  the  seaside.  Thus  no  one  en- 
lightened Pease  until  it  became  Beth's  task  to  do  so 
herself. 

He  dressed  himself  with  unusual  care  one  afternoon; 
had  it  been  the  evening  Miss  Cynthia  would  never  have 
suspected.  But  his  newest  suit,  his  freshest  gloves,  the 
box  of  violets  in  his  hand,  and  (more  than  all)  the  single 
pink  in  his  lapel — all  these  for  a  moment  made  her 
suspect  the  truth  as  she  watched  him  leave  the  house. 

"Whatever  is  the  man ?"     But  he  was  gone,    and 

there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 

He  found  Beth  at  home,  and  gave  her  the  box  of  vio- 
lets. She  thanked  him  with  such  prettiness  as  always 
charmed  him,  such  warmth  as  always  made  him  glow. 
The  poor  man  tried  now  to  say  words  of  love,  he  who  had 
never  practised  them  even  to  himself.  It  was  a  long 
way  round,  through  the  weather,  the  news,  the  latest 
invitation,  to  the  deepest  emotion  of  the  human  heart. 
But  he  pointed  straight  to  it  at  last,  and  Beth  under- 
stood. 

So  she  sprang  to  head  him  off  in  the  kindest,  surest 

way.     "I "  she  hesitated  with  heightened  colour, 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Pease.  Almost  no- 
body knows  it  [almost  everybody  was  nearer  the  truth, 
as  Jim  weekly  complained],  but  you  have  been  such  a 
good  friend  that  I  think  I  should  like  you  to  know." 


126  The  Barrier 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  answered,  much  pleased, 
and  opening  his  bosom  to  the  fatal  dart.  "I  will  tell 
no  one  without  your  permission." 

"I  should  like  you  to  tell  your  cousin,"  she  said. 

"I — I "     Her  face  became  scarlet.     "Mr.  Pease,  I 

am  engaged  to  marry  Mr.  Wayne." 

Down  fell  his  house  of  cards;  it  seemed  as  if  the 
chambers  of  his  brain  resounded,  and  for  a  moment  his 
head  bowed  low.  Then  he  raised  it  again  and  looked 
at  her,  and  for  the  merest  instant  she  saw  a  face  of 
misery, 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pease,"  she  cried,  "I  am  so  sorry  !" 

There  was  a  moment  of  stupid  silence.  "I — I  regret," 
he  said  at  length,  "to  distress  you,  by  letting  you 
know." 

"How  can  I  help  knowing?"  she  answered  simply. 
He  sat  dumb  while  she,  twisting  her  fingers  in  and  out, 
sought  for  further  words.  "If  I,"  she  said  at  last  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  "if  I  have  hurt  you,  I  hope  that  you 
will  blame  me,  and  forget  me." 

" Blame ?"  he  cried.  "And  forget?  No,  no!"  She 
saw  his  face  light  nobly.  "Miss  Blanchard,  you  have 
given  me  new  ideals — humanised  me.  Blame  and  for- 
get? Why,  my  life  was  small  and  narrow;  you  have 
led  me  out  of  myself!  Everything  is  better  through 
knowing  you.  Therefore,  I  may  say  with  a  cheerful 
heart  [and  he  drew  in  his  breath]: 

"  Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all !  " 

He  sat  upright  and  smiled,  but  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes;  she  could  make  no  response.  After  a  moment  he 
asked  her:     "You  are  to  be  married  soon?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  and  gained  command  of  herself. 
"We  must  wait  a  while — and  you  know  it  is  very  slow, 
rising  in  Mr.  Wayne's  business." 


Mr.  Pease  Intrwcles  Upon  a  Secret  127 

"Yes."  Then  he  rose  and  held  out  his  hand;  she 
gave  him  hers  at  once.  "I  will  go,"  he  said.  "Do  not 
reproach  yourself,  and — God  bless  you  always ! "  He 
bent  and  kissed  her  hand,  smiled  again,  and  then  was 
gone. 

She  sat  down,  miserable.  Not  his  brave  cheerful- 
ness, nor  his  almost  comic  quoting  of  the  old-fashioned 
couplet,  could  drive  from  her  the  knowledge  that  his 
heart  was  bleeding.  Slowly  the  tears  welled  out  upon 
her  cheeks. 

Then  Wayne  entered  joyously.  "I  passed  old  Pease 
on  the  steps,  and  he  didn't  see  me.  What's  wrong  with 
him?" 

She  ran  to  him.  "Oh,  Jim!"  she  cried,  and  cltmg  to 
him,  weeping. 

"Oho!  Indeed?"  he  exclaimed,  and  horrified  her 
by  loud  laughter. 

Pease  had  not  noticed  whom  he  passed  upon  the 
steps.  For  a  moment  after  leaving  the  house  he  had 
stood  in  the  vestibule,  looking  at  the  setting  sun.  One 
would  have  said  that  its  splendour  passed  into  his  face 
and  illumined  it;  indeed,  a  glory  entered  him  at  that 
moment,  an  ecstacy  of  self-forgetfulness.  The  sunset 
faded  quickly,  but  the  inner  light  still  shone  on  his  face 
as  he  went  homeward. 

Miss  Cynthia  saw  it  when  he  entered  the  parlour 
where  she  was  sitting.  Her  cousin  had  never  appeared 
so  to  her  before,  and  for  a  moment  she  mistook.  "Is 
it  possible  ? "  she  asked  herself. 

"Cynthia,"  he  said  quietly,  "Miss  Beth  Blanchard 
asked  me  to  tell  you  that  she  is  to  marry  Mr.  Wayne." 

"No!"  she  cried,  angry  at  once,  her  love  for  her 
cousin  blazing  in  her  eyes.  "She  mustn't!"  Then 
she  was  ashamed,  for  he  answered  gently: 

"It  seems  to  me  a  very  happy  fortune." 


laS  The  Bartier 

But  he  could  say  no  more,  for  a  single  dry  sob  burst 
from  her.  Fearing  to  lose  his  own  self-command,  he 
went  up  to  his  room. 

From  that  minute  Miss  Cynthia's  admiration  of  her 
cousin,  which  for  some  time  had  been  passive,  re- 
commenced to  grow,  expanding  far  beyond  its  former 
boundaries  as  she  found  what  further  depths  there 
were  in  his  character.  Never,  even  in  their  early  days 
of  struggle,  had  he  been  so  considerate,  kind,  and 
wise.  Indeed,  on  the  very  day  after  his  great  disap- 
pointment he  proved  his  manliness. 

Pease  travelled  down  to  Cheb asset  and  found  Mather 
in  the  office  as  usual.  The  manager  greeted  him  with 
an  inward  pity,  for  in  the  morning's  mail  he  had  received 
a  letter  from  Beth,  informing  her  dear  George,  whom 
she  had  always  regarded  as  one  of  her  best  friends,  that 
she  and  Mr.  Wayne — etcetera,  etcetera.  With  sorrow 
for  Pease,  therefore,  Mather  greeted  him,  to  be  surprised 
by  the  banker's  smile.  When  his  errand  was  announced 
Mather  was  surprised  the  more. 

"You  have  been  saying,  haven't  you,"  asked  Pease, 
"that  you  must  soon  have  an  assistant  here,  to  take 
charge  of  the  mill  while  you  are  in  the  city." 

"  Yes , "  M  ather  answered .  ' '  We  are  running  smoothly 
now,  and  my  hands  are  more  than  full,  taking  care  of 
both  making  and  selling.  I  must  be  in  the  city  all  the 
time,  so  soon  as  I  can  find  a  capable  man  to  take  my 
place  here." 

"I  have  found  him,"  announced  Pease,  beaming. 
"James  Wayne!" 

"I  said  a  capable  man,  Mr.  Pease,"  replied  Mather. 
"  The  boy  is  green  and  flighty." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Pease.  "But  isn't  he  worth 
the  trial?" 

Mather  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  office.     Did  he  dare 


Mr*  Pease  Intrudes  Upon  a  Secfet  129 

trust  anything  in  Jim's  hands?  "You  promised  me," 
he  reminded,  "that  I  should  have  full  control  over  the 
business." 

"So  you  shall,  so  you  shall,"  soothed  Pease.  "But 
a  trial  ?     Come,  now  ! " 

Between  respect  for  his  employer,  affection  for  Beth, 
and  interest  in  Wayne  himself,  Mather  saw  that  he  was 
caught.  "You're  too  good  for  words!"  he  said,  and 
yielded. 

So  the  position  was  offered  to  Jim,  and  gave  Beth  a 
happy  opening  to  her  engagement.  Amid  all  the 
presents  which,  according  to  the  custom  that  ignores 
the  chance  of  a  broken  betrothal,  came  pouring  in, 
nothing  pleased  Beth  so  much  as  the  fact  that  now  it 
was  open  to  her  Jim  to  make  his  way  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XV 
Which  Develops  the  Colonel's  Financial  Strategy 

To  Judith  Blanchard  the  pubHcation  of  her  sister's 
engagement  was  an  experience.  Hourly  Beth  came  to 
show  a  new  letter  or  present,  and  with  head  at  Judith's 
shoulder  sighed  because  people  were  so  kind.  When- 
ever this  happened,  the  image  of  Mather  grew  a  little 
clearer  in  Judith's  heart,  and  that  of  Ellis  so  much  less 
distinct.  At  the  same  time  there  rose  in  Judith  a  dread 
of  those  vague  misfortunes  which  Jim  might  bring  on 
Beth,  and  when  one  evening  Ellis  came  to  call,  he  found 
Judith  inspired  with  a  desire  to  protect  her  sister  against 
knowledge  of  the  real  hard-heartedness  of  the  world. 

"Your  sister  is  very  happy,"  he  said  after  glancing 
at  the  table  on  which  the  presents  were  displayed. 
"May  she  always  remain  so!" 

Judith  turned  on  him  with  a  curious  energy.  "You 
think  she  may  not?" 

"I  hope  she  may,"  was  all  he  would  reply. 

Judith  studied  him  for  a  moment,  then  her  eyes 
softened.  "I  am  very  fond  of  Beth,"  she  said.  "We 
all  know  Jim ;  among  us  we  must  teach  him  to  be  more 
of  a  man." 

She  spoke  simply,  but  her  words  moved  Ellis;  her 
assumption  that  he  was  capable  of  human,  domestic 
feeling  almost  roused  it  in  him,  and  as  at  their  first 
meeting  he  felt  that  she  could  make  him  better  than 
himself.  With  the  mist  of  sisterly  affection  shed  upon 
her  eyes,  Judith  was  sweeter  than  he  had  ever  known 

130 


The  Colonel's  Financial  Strategy  131 

her ;  yet  at  the  same  time  a  knowledge  of  her  priceless- 
ness  came  to  him,  and  he  feared  this  softer  side  of  her 
as  the  one  on  which  she  would  be  strongest  in  defense: 
it  was  Mather's  side.  The  sole  feelings  which  Ellis 
knew  himself  capable  of  rousing  in  her  were  ambition 
and  the  admiration  of  great  things ;  he  felt  that  he  must 
keep  them  constantly  before  her. 

"I  have  some  news  for  you,"  he  said.  And  so  he 
found  himself  safely  in  the  back  parlour  just  as  the  door- 
bell rang  for  another  visitor. 

It  was  Mather  who  came;  Beth  met  him  with  thanks 
for  the  roses  he  had  sent,  perishable  signs  of  good  wishes. 
Jim  had  grumbled  at  the  flowers:  "Why  doesn't  he 
send  something  practical?"  But  Beth  had  been  de- 
lighted, and  now  told  Mather  so,  calling  Wayne  to  her 
side  to  echo  her  words.  Next  she  spoke  with  still 
deeper  gratitude,  alluding  to  the  position  which  had 
been  given  Jim. 

"And  you  are  glad,"  Mather  asked,  "because  after 
this  you  can't  see  so  much  of  him?" 

"Ah,"  Beth  replied  shyly,  "we  shall  the  sooner  be 
able  to  see  each  other  all  the  time." 

"But  don't  thank  me,"  Mather  continued.  "It  was 
Pease's  idea.  Thank  me  if  Jim  keeps  his  place."  He 
nodded  at  the  young  man  with  a  meaning  which  was 
not  exactly  jovial,  and  which  Jim  (being  like  others  of 
his  age,  half-loutish  and  half-assertive)  resented  accord- 
ingly. So  Jim  got  himself  away,  to  talk  aimless  com- 
monplaces with  the  next  visitor,  Pease,  and  to  glare  at 
Mather  as  he  still  spoke  with  Beth. 

"He's  prepared  to  be  a  father  to  me,"  Jim  grumbled, 
for,  in  the  business  talk  already  held,  Mather  had  laid 
down  application  and  steadiness  as  requisites.  Jim 
had  taken  the  warning  indifferently,  whence  the  re- 
newed hint,  purposely  given  for  Beth's  benefit,  as  Jim 


132  The  Bafficr 

appreciated.  "Now,"  he  thought,  "she'll  rub  it  into 
me." 

Meanwhile  Mather  and  Beth  spoke  of  matrimony, 
and  exchanged  conventionalities  while  they  struggled 
with  deep  thoughts.  They  felt  that  they  understood 
each  other ;  besides,  each  had  at  the  same  time  a  regret 
for  the  other's  fate.  Thus  Beth,  with  her  knowledge  of 
Ellis  in  the  back  parlour,  pitied  Mather,  who  in  his  turn 
grieved  that  Jim's  weaknesses  were  unknown  to  Beth. 
But  being  genuinely  sympathetic,  Mather  and  Beth 
felt  the  thrill  of  their  friendship,  and  were  more  closely 
drawn  together  by  this  belief  in  each  other's  impending 
unhappiness.  Therefore,  though  for  a  time  they  spoke 
in  a  lighter  vein,  at  last  their  feeling  came  to  the  surface. 
Mather  had  described  marriage  and  its  inconveniences, 
as  seen  from  the  bachelor's  standpoint.  "I  am  not 
afraid!"  declared  Beth  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  Then 
with  an  impulse  he  took  her  hands. 

"We  know  that  troubles  may  come,  however  lucky 
we  may  seem,  don't  we,  Beth?"  he  said.  "Look  here, 
if  ever  you  need  any  help,  you'll  remember  me,  won't 
you?" 

And  Beth,  instead  of  retorting  that  she  had  her 
father  and  Jim  to  rely  on,  for  the  moment  forgot  those 
sturdy  protectors,  and  promised  that  she  would.  Beth 
was  at  this  time  always  on  the  edge  of  emotional  grati- 
tude, and  there  was  a  glimmer  of  tears  in  her  affectionate 
eyes  as  she  answered.  Then  the  Colonel  came  wander- 
ing into  the  room,  at  the  same  time  as  the  voices  of 
Judith  and  Ellis  were  heard  at  the  door  of  the  back 
parlour,  and  Beth  and  Mather  separated.  Jim  drew 
her  aside  at  once. 

"Why  did  you  hold  hands  with  him  so?"  he  asked. 

"He's  one  of  the  oldest  friends  I  have,"  she  replied 
in  surprise.     "And  I'm  so  sorry  for  him,  Jim!"     She 


The  G)Ioners  Financial  Strategy  133 

led  him  to  the  window  recess,  and  tried  to  interest  her 
lover  in  Mather's  mournful  fate,  but  Jim  did  not  enter 
into  her  sorrow  to  the  degree  which  she  anticipated. 
Then  that  happened  which  Mather  had  desired  and 
Jim  dreaded,  for  Beth  spoke  of  the  position  at  the 
mill:  he  mustn't  lose  it.  "You  will  work  hard,  won't 
you,  Jim  dear?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I  shan't?"  he  demanded  testily. 
Whereby  he  put  Beth  in  the  wrong,  so  that  she  repressed 
a  sigh,  and  begged  his  pardon. 

Now  while  Jim,  after  this  triumph,  assumed  a  sulky 
dignity  which  was  quite  appropriate,  the  Colonel  was 
still  wandering,  mentally  at  least,  if  the  quality  of  his 
words  with  Mather  and  Pease  was  a  sign.  "Wool- 
gathering," decided  Mather,  and  relapsed  into  silence 
while  the  Colonel  explained  to  Pease  that  the  peculiar 
actions  of  the  autumn  weather  were — ha,  peculiar,  and 
how  were  matters  with  Mr.  Pease?  Then  the  Colonel 
did  not  listen,  and  started  when  the  answer  was  inno- 
cently ended  with  a  question.  Vaguely,  he  said  he 
didn't  know. 

"In  my  business,"  went  on  Pease,  apparently  satis- 
fied, "the  state  of  the  stock  market  occasions  consider- 
able vigilance.  One  does  not  seem  able  even  to  guess 
what  will  happen." 

"No,"  acquiesced  the  Colonel,  this  time  with  an 
attention  which  the  fervour  of  his  tone  attested.  "That 
is  very  true." 

Unhappily  true,  he  might  have  said  without  exaggera- 
tion. Indeed,  were  life  an  opera,  and  had  each  person 
his  leit-motif,  the  Colonel  would  have  taken  wherever 
he  went  an  undertone  of  jarring  excitement.  The 
cymbals  would  best  express  the  clashing  of  his  hopes 
and  fears ;  he  rose  in  the  night  to  figure  on  bits  of  paper, 
read   the   news   feverishly   each   evening,   and   roused 


134  The  Bamer 

Judith's  criticism  of  his  tendency  to  carry  away  the 
stock-market  reports.  Judith  was  watching  those  stocks 
in  which  Ellis  was  interested,  but  while  her  concern 
was  merely  in  the  theory  of  market  manipulation,  the 
Colonel's  was  sadly  practical. 

And  it  was  on  his  mind  this  night  that  he  was  near 
an  end;  his  life's  opera  was  approaching  that  grand 
crash  when  the  cymbals  were  to  be  drowned  by  the 
heavier  brasses.  In  his  pocket  were  barely  two  hundred 
dollars  in  cash,  he  had  placed  his  last  thousand  at  the 
broker's,  and  the  broker  had  sent  word  that  he  must 
have  another  in  the  morning.  The  Colonel  looked  at 
his  daughters,  Beth  sweet  and  Judith  proud;  he  looked 
at  Pease  and  Ellis,  safe  from  calamity;  he  looked  at  Jim 
with  his  youth  and  Mather  with  his  strength.  None  of 
them  had  troubles;  he  alone  was  miserable. 

And  the  Colonel,  when  he  could  withdraw,  went  into 
a  comer  and  brooded  over  his  ill-luck,  thus  alone,  of  all 
the  company,  failing  to  remark  the  special  brilliancy  of 
Judith's  beauty.  Ellis  saw  it  and  was  proud,  for  he 
had  caused  it;  Mather  noted  it  and  groaned,  for  it  was 
not  for  him;  Beth  admired;  Jim  came  out  of  his  sulk, 
swaggered,  and  made  up  to  her;  even  Pease  was  roused 
to  a  mild  admiration.  And  Judith  herself  felt  as  if  she 
had  moved  the  world  a  foot  from  its  orbit. 

Ellis's  news  had  been  important.  "  Do  you  remember 
the  advice  you  gave  me?"  he  had  inquired  when  the 
two  were  alone  in  the  little  parlour. 

"About  the  corporation  lawyer?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"Of  course!  Tell  me,  have  you  done  anything  with 
him?" 

"Anything?  Everything!"  he  responded  with  en- 
thusiasm. "That  magazine  told  all  about  him,  and  I 
looked  him  up  in  New  York.  He  came  on  here — I  don't 
know  how  I  should  have  put  it  through  without  him." 


The  G)IoneI's  Financial  Strategfy  135 

"Then  you  have  managed  it?"  she  asked. 

Indeed  he  had,  he  assured  her.  A  man  gets — ^well, 
misjudged  by  others,  sometimes;  there  had  been  a 
prejudice  to  overcome  before  he  could  affect  this  con- 
soHdation.  The  others  had  been  unusually  shy;  the 
safeguards  Ellis  offered  had  not  satisfied  them.  But 
the  lawyer  had  straightened  matters  out  so  that  all 
had  gone  smoothly,  and  he,  EUis,  had  saved  money 
by  his  means. 

"Good!"  cried  Judith. 

"We  paid  him  twenty-five,"  Ellis  said. 

"Twenty-five?" 

"Thousand,"  he  explained. 

"So  much?"  cried  Judith. 

"Oh,"  answered  Ellis,  "it  was  no  great  affair  for  him. 
He  often  gets  much  more." 

Judith  was  speechless. 

"And,"  said  Ellis,  "there  is  some  one  else  we 
ought  to  fee,  if  only  it  were  possible.  But  I 
scarcely  see  how  I  could  bring  her  name  before  the 
directors." 

' '  A  woman  ?  "  she  asked,  much  excited. 

"You,"  he  replied  briefly,  and  his  mouth  shut  with 
its  customary  firmness.  But  his  eyes  noted  her  ex- 
hilaration. 

"I?"  she  demanded.  "I?  Do  you  mean  that  what 
I  said  was  of  importance?" 

"You  have  saved  us  time.  You  have  put  money 
directly  in  my  pocket.  Ten  thousand  is  what  I  calcu- 
late I've  saved  in  concessions,  and  in  the  time  gained 
by  shortening  trouble  I  reckon  I've  made  as  much 
more."  He  laughed.  "What  percentage  shall  I  give 
you?" 

But  she  would  not  jest.  "  You're  welcome,  welcorhe ! " 
she  exclaimed.     "I'm  satisfied,  just  to  feel  that  I  have 


136  The  Bafficf 

been  a  factor.  Just  to  know  that  I — oh,  Mr.  Ellis, 
you  can't  know  how  I  feel ! " 

And  Judith  was  near  the  danger  line  at  that  moment, 
as  she  leaned  toward  him  with  sparkling  eyes.  He  saw 
it,  believed  his  chance  had  come,  and  sought  to  take 
advantage  of  it.  "I  shall  consult  you  always  after 
this,"  he  said.  "I  will  bring  you  all  my  difficulties. 
A  partnership — what  do  you  say  to  that?" 

She  laughed  in  deprecation,  yet  she  was  flattered,  and 
the  stimulus  caused  her  to  rear  her  head  and  expand  her 
nostrils  in  the  way  she  had.  In  his  turn  he  was  thrilled, 
and  fire  entered  his  veins. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  repeated,  leaning  toward 
her.     "  Shall  we  be  partners  ? " 

"A  silent  partnership?"  she  asked.  "Or  will  you 
put  up  the  sign,  Ellis  and  Blanchard  ? " 

The  answer  sprang  to  his  lips,  but  he  checked  it, 
wondering  if  he  dared  venture.  A  glance  at  her  face 
decided  him ;  she  was  looking,  still  with  those  triumphant 
eyes,  away  from  him,  as  if  she  saw  visions  of  success. 
He  spoke  hoarsely. 

"Not  Ellis  and  Blanchard,  but— Ellis  and  Ellis!" 

She  looked  at  him.  "What  did  you  say?"  she  asked 
absently,  as  if  her  thoughts  had  been  elsewhere.  Then, 
looking  where  her  glance  had  been,  he  saw  Mather  in 
the  farther  room.     Mather — and  she  had  not  heard ! 

"I  said  nothing,"  he  answered,  almost  choking. 

Even  his  discomfiture  escaped  her,  and  presently  she 
took  him  to  the  others.  Her  excitement  was  not  gone, 
it  made  her  wonderfully  beautiful,  but  though  he  might 
triumph  that  he  had  caused  it,  he  knew  that  she  had 
slipped  away  from  him.  He  tried  in  vain  to  master  his 
exasperation. 

Judith's  thoughts  were  of  Mather ;  she  felt  that  if  she 
could  tell  him  what  she  had  done,  she  would  crush  him. 


The  Coloners  Financial  Strategy  137 

This  was  what  she  had  hoped  for:  the  time  when  she 
should  prove  that  she  could  influence  events.  He  had 
said  the  world  would  be  too  much  for  her !  Perhaps 
now  she  could  break  that  masterfulness  against  which 
she  had  always  rebelled.  And  she  smiled  at  the  quiet 
assurance  of  his  manner,  for  he  had  merely  started  a 
mill  and  built  up  a  business,  while  she  had  all  but 
created  a  Trust !     It  would  humble  him,  if  he  but  knew. 

There  is  no  need  of  describing  the  next  half-hour's 
doings  of  that  mixed  company.  Pride  and  sweetness, 
loutishness,  strength,  amiability,  ambition,  and  a 
feeble  man's  weak  despair,  all  were  together  in  the 
Blanchard's  parlour,  and  got  on  very  badly.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  Judith  talked  with  Mather,  looking 
at  him  from  time  to  time  with  a  gleam  of  unexpressed 
thought  which  he  did  not  understand ;  that  Ellis,  trying 
to  subdue  a  grin  of  fury  into  a  suave  smile,  put  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  clenched  them  there ;  and  that  by  this 
action  he  exposed,  protruding  from  his  vest  pocket,  the 
end  of  a  narrow  red  book  at  which  the  Colonel  was 
presently  staring  as  if  fascinated. 

Now  the  Colonel  had  once  been,  as  already  stated, 
what  the  early  Victorians  were  fond  of  calling  a  man  of 
substance.  Hence  complacence  to  the  exclusion  of 
persistence,  and  a  later  life  dominated  by  the  achieve- 
ments of  youth.  He  ran  away  from  college  to  go  to  the 
Civil  War,  and  at  the  coming  of  peace  retired  on  his 
laurels.  Arduous  service  in  the  State  militia  brought 
him  his  title;  he  married,  travelled,  and  frittered  away 
the  years  until  changes  in  the  value  of  property  brought 
him  face  to  face  with  what  might  seem  the  unavoidable 
choice,  either  to  accommodate  himself  to  a  more  modest 
establishment,  or  to  go  to  work  to  earn  money. 

Out  of  the  seeming  deadlock  the  Colonel's  financial 
insight  found  a  way.     His  capital,  used  as  income,  for 


138  The  Bamcf 

some  years  more  maintained  him  in  the  necessary  way 
of  life.  Meanwhile  he  promised  himself  to  regain  his 
money  by  the  simple  means  of  the  stock  market,  but 
when  he  came  to  apply  the  remedy,  some  perverseness 
in  its  workings  made  it  fail,  and  to  his  astonishment  he 
found  himself  at  the  end  of  his  resources.  To  none  of 
his  friends  might  he  turn  for  relief,  for  your  friend  who 
lends  also  lectures,  and  the  Colonel  could  never  bear 
that.  Our  esteemed  warrior  was,  however,  still  fertile 
in  resource,  and  his  genius  discovered  a  possible  base  of 
supplies.  Hence  the  fascination  exerted  by  the  check- 
book which  Ellis  always  carried  about  with  him. 

Some  moralists  might  dub  the  Colonel  weak  for 
dwelling  on  this  contemplation.  Yet  consistency  is 
regarded  as  a  virtue,  and  the  Colonel  was  usually  con- 
sistent in  trying  to  get  what  he  wanted.  With  his 
military  eye  still  fixed  on  the  end  of  the  narrow  red 
book,  he  drew  near  to  Ellis  and  began  to  speak  with 
him.  Naturally,  that  which  was  in  the  Colonel's  mind 
came  first  to  his  lips. 

"The  stock  market  has  been  flighty  lately,"  quoth 
he. 

So  were  girls,  thought  Ellis.  "Very  flighty,"  he 
said.     "But  that  scarcely  concerns  you,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  no,  no ! "  the  Colonel  hastily  assured  him.  "And 
yet — Mr.  Ellis,  may  I  have  a  word  with  you  in  my 
study?" 

Accustomed  though  he  was  to  every  turn  of  fortune, 
Ellis's  heart  leaped.  Was  the  fool  coming  into  his 
hands  at  last  ?  Then,  as  he  looked  once  more  at  Judith, 
the  unduly  sensitive  organ  made  the  reverse  movement, 
contracting  with  a  spasm  of  real  pain.  She  was  not  even 
noticing  him  now.  He  followed  the  worthy  Colonel  to 
what  was  called  his  study. 

Blanchard  had  no  moral  struggle  to  make  before  he 


The  Colonel's  Financial  Strategy  139 

broached  his  subject.  His  fibre  had  degenerated  long 
ago;  his  sole  feeling  was  regret  that  he  must  expose 
himself  to  one  who  was  below  his  station.  Taking  care, 
therefore,  not  to  lower  himself  in  his  own  eyes  by  sub- 
servience in  word  or  manner,  the  Colonel  indicated  his 
need  of  a  few  thousands,  "just  to  tide  him  over."  He 
wondered  if  Ellis  were  willing  to  advance  the  money. 

Ellis  took  the  request  quietly,  and  sat  as  if  thinking. 
His  cold  face  concealed  a  disturbance  within:  elation 
struggling  with  an  unforeseen  doubt.  This  collapse  on 
the  Colonel's  part  Ellis  had  watched  and  hoped  for, 
yet  now  that  it  had  come  a  dormant  instinct  stirred, 
questioning  whether  to  control  Judith  by  such  means 
were  not  unworthy  of  himself.  A  man  was  fair  game, 
but  a  woman — Ellis  roused  himself  impatiently. 
Entirely  unaccustomed  to  making  moral  decisions,  he 
could  not  see  that  he  stood  at  the  parting  of  ways,  and 
that  from  the  moment  when  he  leagued  himself  with 
the  Colonel,  deceit  entered  into  his  relations  with  Judith. 
Intolerant  of  what  seemed  a  weakness,  he  crushed 
down  the  doubt.  What  was  he  dreaming  of?  The 
chance  was  too  good  to  be  lost. 

Need  of  appearing  businesslike  made  him  ask  a  few 
questions.     "What  security  can  you  offer?" 

"Nothing  whatever,"  answered  the  Colonel,  grandly 
simple. 

"This  house ? "  asked  EUis. 

"Twice  mortgaged,  and,"  added  the  Colonel  as  if  the 
joke  were  upon  his  mortgagees,  "out  of  repair." 

Ellis  took  note  of  the  admission;  if  the  mortgagees 
knew  that  the  house  were  in  poor  condition,  they  might 
sell  cheap.     "The  house  at  Chebasset?"  he  inquired. 

"Merely  rented." 

"No  stocks  or  bonds,  no  other  property?"  Ellis 
persisted. 


14©  The  Bamcr 

"My  furniture,"  was  all  the  Colonel  could  suggest. 

This  time  a  real  repugnance  seized  Ellis.  "Nothing 
of  that  kind,"  he  answered  sharply,  feeling  that  to  have 
a  lien  on  the  very  chair  which  Judith  sat  in  was  too 
much.  Yet  the  thought  of  her,  thus  again  brought  in, 
grew  in  spite  of  this  spasm  of  right  feeling,  and  even 
while  he  despised  the  Colonel  for  his  unmanliness,  his 
own  lower  nature  spoke.  "There  is  one  other  thing, 
however." 

The  Colonel  saw  his  meaning.  "Mr.  Ellis,"  he  cried, 
with  fine  indignation,  "I  mean  to  repay  you  every 
cent!" 

But  the  eye  of  the  warrior  fell  before  that  of  the 
parvenu.  "Cur!"  thought  Ellis.  "Damn  your  small 
spirit!"  Nevertheless,  he  drew  out  his  check-book. 
"You  will  give  your  note,  of  course ? " 

"Of  course!"  replied  the  Colonel  with  dignity.  Two 
documents  changed  hands,  one  in  fact,  the  other  by 
courtesy  representing  the  value  of  five  thousand  dollars. 
Then  Ellis  refused  the  Colonel's  invitation  to  stay  and 
smoke ;  the  transaction  tasted  badly  in  his  mouth. 

"But  at  least  you  will  come  into  the  parlour  again," 
said  the  Colonel,  when  they  were  once  more  in  the  front 
hall.  Ellis  stood  without  replying,  and  the  Colonel 
waited  while  he  looked  in  at  the  others. 

Pease  had  gone,  the  other  four  remained,  and  Mather 
was  the  center  of  the  group.  Wayne  was  regarding  him 
resentfully,  Beth  affectionately,  Judith  unfathomably. 
She  still  remembered  the  news  which  Ellis  had  brought. 

"So  you  are  glad  to  be  a  city  man  again ? "  asked  Beth 
of  Mather. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "but  poor  Jim !" 

"Poor  Jim  !"  echoed  Beth  tenderly. 

"He  can  stand  it,"  testily  rejoined  the  object  of  their 
sympathy. 


The  ColoneVs  Financial  Strategy  141 

"I  don't  know  that  I  shall  feel  at  home  here,  after 
being  a  countryman  so  long,"  said  Mather.  "Will  you 
tell  me  all  that  has  happened  down-town  in  my  absence, 
Judith?" 

Without  answering,  she  threw  him  a  glance,  meaning 
that  she  could — if  she  would !  In  the  hall  Ellis  turned 
abruptly  away,  and  gathered  up  his  hat  and  coat. 

"No,  I  won't  come  in,"  he  said  to  the  Colonel,  and 
went  away  at  once. 

His  hold  on  Blanchard,  now  that  it  was  gained, 
seemed  unaccountably  small.  It  would  grow,  Ellis  had 
no  doubt  of  that,  for  the  Colonel  was  on  the  road  down 
hill;  and  yet  the  relationship  promised  less  than  it 
might.  For  though  by  this  means  Ellis  might  win 
possession  of  Judith,  he  wanted  more  than  that;  he 
must  have  her  esteem.  And  Mather  had  taken  her 
mind  from  him !  Ellis  grew  hot  and  cold  with  that 
strange  feeling  whose  name  he  could  not  discover,  while 
yet  its  disturbances  were  stronger  from  day  to  day. 

For  the  Colonel  another  act  of  his  opera  began  with 
a  pleasant  jig;  cheered,  he  retired  to  his  study,  and 
began  to  plan  how  to  double  Ellis's  note.  Jim  took 
Beth  away  into  the  back  parlour,  where  presently  the 
light  grew  dim.  As  the  two  went,  Judith  saw  Beth's 
upward  glance  into  her  lover's  face,  and  her  own  thoughts 
changed  and  grew  soft;  she  turned  to  watch  Mather  as 
he  sat  before  what  had  been,  earlier  in  the  evening,  a 
wood  fire. 

She  noticed  how  natural  it  seemed  for  him  to  gather 
the  embers  together,  put  on  wood  from  the  basket,  and 
start  a  little  blaze.  The  action  first  carried  her  back 
to  the  period  before  he  was  her  declared  lover;  next  it 
drew  her  thoughts  forward  to  a  time  when  he  might  be — 
what  Jim  was  to  Beth.     And  Mather,  unconsciously 


142  The  Barrier 

working  at  the  fire,  started  for  Judith  a  train  of 
musing. 

Beth  had  taught  her  that  to  love  was  enviable,  and 
that  it  might  be  a  relief  to  have  one's  future  fixed. 
Sitting  thus  with  Mather,  it  seemed  to  Judith  that  just 
so  must  many  a  husband  and  wife  be  sitting,  contented 
and  at  home.  When  compared  with  the  restless  dis- 
satisfaction which  so  long  had  tormented  her,  the 
picture  was  alluring.     Judith  gave  herself  to  the  mood. 

Mather  toyed  with  the  tongs  for  a  minute  longer,  then 
gave  the  logs  a  final  tap  into  place,  and  turned  to  her 
as  if  rousing  from  thought.  "It's  pleasant  to  be  here," 
he  said,  "and  it's  fine  to  be  in  the  city.  I  like  to  meet 
people  on  the  street  again.  It's  as  if  I  had  had  years 
of  exile." 

She  smiled  without  replying,  and  he  went  on.  "I 
think  it's  done  me  good.  Curious,  isn't  it,  that  to  be 
knocked  down  and  kicked  out,  and  then  to  go  away 
and  look  at  people  through  a  telescope,  should  be  a  real 
benefit?  But  I've  gained  a  better  perspective  than 
before;  I've  had  time  to  think  of  the  theory  as  well  as 
the  practice  of  affairs.  Yes,  it's  been  healthful — but 
it's  good  to  be  back.  You  understand  what  I  mean, 
don't  you,  Judith?" 

"I  do,"  she  answered.  Ellis  was  forgotten;  here  was 
George  speaking  as  he  had  not  spoken  for  a  year,  of  his 
ideas  and  experiences.  She  was  glad  to  have  them 
brought  to  her,  glad  that  he  spoke  freely  and  not 
bitterly,  and  again  the  remembrance  of  Beth's  happiness 
brought  a  vision  of  closer  relationship. 

He  noted  the  softness  of  her  mood,  and  without  effort 
let  the  time  drift  on,  careful  only  not  to  disturb  this 
harmony,  until  at  last  he  felt  that  the  talk  should  be 
stopped  before  it  ended  of  itself,  and  so  he  took  his 
leave. 


The  G)Ioners  Financial  Strategy  143 

She  gave  him  one  of  her  direct  looks  as  she  offered  her 
hand.  "You  have  been  too  busy,  George,"  she  said. 
"Come  oftener."  With  the  firm  hand-clasp  to  express 
the  undercurrent  of  their  thoughts,  they  parted.  Alone 
again  by  the  fire,  Judith  indulged  herself  by  looking 
forward.  One  could  drift  into  marriage,  easily  and 
agreeably. 

Then  she  heard  Jim  say  good-night,  and  Beth  came 
and  leaned  upon  her  chair.  "I  want  to  tell  you  what 
Mr.  Fenno  said  to  me  this  afternoon,"  said  Beth. 
"About  George  and  the  new  combination  of  the  cotton 
millers." 

"What  had  George  to  do  with  that?"  asked  Judith. 

"The  Wampum  Mills  held  out  a  long  while,"  answered 
Beth;  "the  whole  thing  depended  upon  them.  Mr. 
Fenno  is  president;  George  is  a  director,  but  he  sent  in 
his  resignation  soon  after  he  went  to  Chebasset,  and 
didn't  attend  their  meetings  for  weeks." 

"Well?"  asked  Judith. 

"Well,  the  directors  couldn't  make  up  their  minds, 
and  at  last  they  refused  to  accept  George's  resignation, 
and  sent  for  him.  He  looked  into  the  matter,  and  then 
he "     Beth  paused  to  laugh. 

"Go  on,"  begged  Judith. 

"He  scolded  them  for  not  jumping  at  the  chance. 
Mr.  Fenno  said  he  hadn't  been  so  lectured  since  he  was 
a  boy;  he  was  much  pleased  by  it.  So  the  Wampum 
Mills  went  into  the  combination  three  days  ago,  all  of 
the  little  mills  followed  at  once,  and  they  expect  to  do 
almost  double  business  now.     Isn't  it  fine  of  George?" 

"Fine!"  agreed  Judith,  but  her  gentler  mood  was 
destroyed.  Ellis  also  had  had  part  in  the  combination, 
the  greater  part.  If  one  were  to  compare  the  achieve- 
ments and  to  choose  between  the  men,  if  one  were  to  do 
rather  than  to  dream !     She  threw  off  her  thoughts 


X44  The  Batfief 

of  Mather  as  one  throws  off  a  cloak  and  looks  upon  it 
lying  shapeless.  Life  and  action  suddenly  called  her 
again;  she,  too,  had  influenced  this  matter.  She 
remembered  Ellis's  acknowledgment  of  indebtedness, 
the  suggestion  of  partnership,  and  the  compliment 
pleased  her.  Mather  passed  completely  from  her  mind, 
and  Ellis  dominated  her  as  before. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
Something    N  ew 

If  Mrs.  Harmon's  marriage  was  her  most  brilliant 
success,  it  was  also  her  greatest  disappointment — as  it 
was  her  husband's.  At  times  when  she  thought  of  her 
position,  she  was  satisfied ;  when  she  realised  its  restraints 
she  rebelled.  For  she  was  robust,  full-blooded,  stirring, 
but  the  Judge  was  "set  in  his  ways."  He  was  mental, 
she  was  physical;  as  a  result  she  completely  misprized 
him. 

He  had  brought  her  into  a  circle  where  she  did  not 
belong;  it  was  as  if  a  gardener  had  set  among  roses 
some  hardy,  showy  plant,  a  flaunting  weed.  Pleased 
as  Mrs.  Harmon  was,  her  position  irked  her  to  maintain; 
respectability  was  often  very  wearisome,  very  flat. 
There  was  little  spice  and  go  to  life;  too  much  restraint 
was  required.  Not  entirely  vulgar,  not  exactly  coarse, 
she  fretted  first,  then  yearned  for  other  things.  Barbaric 
is  the  word  that  fits  her  best ;  she  was  like  the  educated 
Indian  who  longs  for  his  free  dress  and  freer  ways. 

Liberty  was  out  of  the  question,  since  she  would  never 
give  up  the  brilliance  of  her  position.  Personal 
freedom  she  had;  for  the  Judge,  when  he  found  that  she 
could  not  be  the  companion  that  he  hoped,  gave  her  all 
the  money  that  he  could,  and  let  her  (within  bounds 
which  she  understood  very  well  and  overstepped  only 
in  secret)  do  as  she  pleased.  But  she  had  in  her  the 
craving  for  physical  stimuli;  earth  was  her  mother. 
A  five-mile  walk  daily  might  have  kept  her  mind  clear, 

145 


146  The  Bamer 

yet  she  would  have  had  to  walk  alone,  and  that  was 
unbearable.  Loving  people,  she  lacked  companionship, 
for  with  women  below  her  station  she  would  not  chum, 
while  with  those  in  it  she  could  not.  We  have  seen 
how  Judith  failed  her;  there  remained  only  the  men. 
Handsome  and  shrewd,  Mrs.  Harmon  had  gained  her 
position  without  yielding  to  their  snares ;  but  now  that 
the  dangers  which  beset  her  single  life  were  past,  she 
began  to  look  back  at  them  inquiringly.  Her  beauty 
was  full-blown;  soon  it  would  begin  to  fade,  and  her 
nature  cried  out  against  losing  youth  and  all  its  pleasures. 

Her  feelings  were  from  instinct,  not  calculation;  her 
actions  were  impulsive.  When  she  first  met  Ellis,  quite 
unconsciously  her  thoughts  had  dwelt  on  him.  He  was 
unresponsive;  the  two  dropped  into  a  habit  of  semi- 
intimacy,  but  having  thus  begun  to  let  her  fancy  roam, 
Mrs.  Harmon  yearned  for  an  Adonis  until  her  dreams 
centered  with  some  constancy  upon  a  vision  which 
answered  to  the  name  of  Jim. 

Circumstances  are  everything;  there  is  nothing 
human  which  does  not  depend  upon  them  absolutely, 
and  Mrs.  Harmon  might  have  "sighed  and  pined  and 
ogled"  forever,  had  not  Wayne  been  thrown  in  her 
path  at  a  time  when  his  mind  was  ready  to  welcome 
diversion. 

It  happened  that  he  had  planned  to  go  to  the  theater 
with  Beth.  They  wanted  to  go  alone,  therefore  they 
must  go  in  the  afternoon.  He  chose  a  Wednesday, 
though  only  Saturday  afternoons  belonged  to  him. 
The  play  was  advertised  in  a  manner  to  excite  Jim's 
interest,  and  he  assured  Beth  it  would  be  "bully." 
Coming  up  from  Chebasset  at  eleven  o'clock,  he  dressed 
himself  in  his  best  and  lunched  at  the  Blanchard's. 
Then  as  the  hour  approached  he  started  with  Beth  for 
the  temple  of  amusement. 


Something  New  147 

She  pressed  his  arm  as  they  stood  for  a  minute  in  the 
vestibule.  "Naughty  boy  !"  she  said,  beaming  on  him. 
"  Naughty  to  spend  so  much  money  on  me  ! " 

"We  mustn't  dry  up,  Beth,"  he  answered.  "Life's 
too  serious  to  have  no  fun  in  it." 

*'But  to  take  an  afternoon  from  work!"  she  said,  so 
prettily  that  only  conscience  would  have  blinded  him  to 
the  intended  thanks.  Jim's  sense  of  guilt,  however, 
made  him  start. 

"Confound  it,  Beth,"  he  cried,  stopping  short  and 
looking  at  her,  "don't  you  trust  me  to  take  an  afternoon 
off  without  stealing  it?" 

"  Oh,  oh  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "Jim,  I  didn't  mean  that ! " 
She  tried  to  soothe  his  irritation  away,  but  it  was  a  bad 
beginning  to  their  pleasure,  and  they  could  not  talk 
freely  on  the  way  to  the  theater.  When  they  entered 
che  lobby  she  felt  that  he  was  still  touchy,  therefore  she 
said  nothing  of  the  flaming  posters  which  she  saw  now 
for  the  first  time.  Women  in  tights,  drunken  men — but 
Jim  had  said  the  play  would  be  fine;  these  were  only  to 
catch  the  passer's  eye. 

Jim  unbent  again  when  they  were  once  seated:  the 
curtain,  the  bustle,  the  anticipation  pleased  him.  "It's 
going  to  be  great !"  he  said.  "It's  fun  to  be  together, 
isn't  it,  Beth?"  He  was  as  loving  as  before,  and  her 
little  heart  was  happy. 

But  when  the  curtain  went  up,  and  the  play  com- 
menced, poor  Beth  began  to  sicken.  Women  with 
rights  appeared,  and  said  unpleasant  things;  the  drunken 
man  came  on,  and  reeled  about  horribly.  Besides  these 
attractions  there  were  two  people  who  gave  a  travesty 
of  lovers,  at  which  Jim  nudged  her ;  there  was  a  woman 
who  drank  beer,  and  a  waiter  who  spilled  it  down  her 
neck.  At  this  last  whimsical  situation  the  theater 
rocked  with  laughter,  so  that  Beth  became  aware  that 


148  The  Barticf 

there  were  people  who  liked  that  sort  of  thing ;  next  she 
saw  that  Jim  at  her  side  was  weak  with  merriment  at 
the  exquisite  foolery.  The  curtain  went  down  to  a 
song  which  the  audience  regarded  as  deliciously  droll, 
but  at  which  Beth  rose  from  her  seat,  her  cheeks 
flaming. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Jim,  astonished. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  she  answered.     "  Come," 

While  the  curtain  was  going  up  again  that  the  singer 
might  be  complimented,  Beth  and  Jim  made  their  way 
out  of  the  theater.  He  cast  glances  behind  at  the 
prima  donna;  Beth  looked  neither  right  nor  left.  But 
when  they  were  free  of  the  place,  he  came  to  her  side 
with  anxiety  in  his  face. 

"Are  you  ill?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  she  said. 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"That  play,  Jim." 

"What?"  he  cried,  thunderstruck. 

"It  was  dreadful,"  she  said.     "I  couldn't  bear  it." 

He  could  say  nothing  at  first,  but  at  length  he  tried  to 
speak.     "Then  the  money  I've  spent — and  my  time?" 

"Don't,  Jim  ! "  she  pleaded.     "  Not  here  in  the  street." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered  stiffly,  and  was  silent  until 
he  reached  her  house.  But  when  she  started  up  the 
steps  he  stood  still  and  raised  his  hat. 

"Jim ! "  she  exclaimed,  halting.  "Aren't  you  coming 
in?" 

He  backed  away  and  would  not  look  at  her.  "Later," 
he  said. 

"Jim!"  she  cried  appealingly. 

He  turned  and  went  away  without  another  word,  doing 
what  he  knew  he  should  repent,  for  she  was  very  sweet, 
very  piteous.  She  would  have  run  after  him  to  draw 
him  back  but — some  one  was  coming.     She  went  into 


Something;  New  149 

the  house  and  sat  in  tears,  waiting  for  him  to  return, 
but  he  did  not  come. 

Now  the  person  who  was  coming  was  Mrs.  Harmon, 
and  she  saw  it  all.  She  perceived  the  scowl  on  Jim's 
face;  she  almost  heard  Beth's  pleading.  On  impulse  she 
turned  back  as  if  she  had  forgotten  something,  and 
allowed  Jim  to  overtake  her. 

"Why,  Mr.  Wayne ! "  she  said,  and  Jim  could  not  pass 
without  speaking. 

"Good-afternoon,"  he  said. 

"A  very  beautiful  afternoon,"  she  responded,  so  that 
however  reluctant,  he  had  to  delay.  And  now  is  seen 
the  beginning  of  the  afternoon's  development,  for  when 
she  next  spoke  she  had  no  thought  beyond  what  was 
expressed  by  her  words,  "An  afternoon  for  a  walk, 
Mr.  Wayne."  She  had  the  very  faintest  hope  that  he 
might  offer  to  walk  with  her. 

"An  afternoon  for  the  theater,"  answered  Jim  bitterly, 
as  he  remembered  the  delights  he  had  lost.  Mrs. 
Harmon's  disappointment  was  far  greater  than  her 
expectations. 

"Are  you  going?"  she  asked  him.  "What, 
you  have  been,  Mr.  Wayne?  But  how  are  you  out 
so  early?" 

"Some  people,"  answered  Jim,  "don't  care  for  the 
theater." 

Mrs.  Harmon,  recalling  what  she  had  just  seen,  did 
some  swift  guessing.  "My  husband,  for  instance," 
she  said  lightly. 

"And  Miss  Blanchard,"  added  Jim  gloomily. 

She  thought  she  guessed  why  Jim  would  not  walk 
with  her.  "You  are  going  back  to  see  the  rest  of  the 
performance  alone?" 

But  the  idea  came  to  him  as  new.  He  took  from  his 
pocket  two  slips  of  blue  cardboard  and  regarded  them 


XSO  The  Bartiet 

resentfully.  "I  could  go  back,"  he  said.  "The  man 
gave  me  these  at  the  door.     I've  half  a  mind  to." 

Two  slips  of  cardboard !  A  thought  came  to  her,  of 
such  weight  that  she  needed  time  to  consider  it;  there- 
fore she  changed  the  subject.  "How  do  you  like  your 
new  business?"  she  asked.  "It  must  be  very  inter- 
esting." 

Thus  she  opened  new  fields  of  discontent.  "Inter- 
esting enough,"  answered  Jim.  "But  a  fellow  that  has 
had  freedom  finds  it  very  confining." 

"I  can  imagine  it,"  she  murmured.  "And  it  is  a 
different  line  of  work." 

"Quite  different,"  agreed  Jim.  "Compared  with 
brokering,  it's  dull,  Mrs.  Harmon.  I  miss  the  excite- 
ment; it's  awful  humdrum  at  the  mill.  There's  such 
lots  of  stupid  detail." 

"Then  Chebasset  is  so  far  from  the  city,"  she  supple- 
mented. 

"It  is  difficult  to  get  any  time  here,"  he  said,  "unless 
you  take  an  early  train,  you  know."  Recollection  came 
to  him  again,  and  he  added :  ' '  And  when  a  fellow  makes 
a  special  effort  to  give  another  person  pleasure,  and 
she — well,  never  mind  ! "   Jim  sighed  heavily. 

Mrs.  Harmon  made  a  sympathetic  pause.  Motives 
were  balanced  in  Jim's  brain  just  then,  resentment  and 
desire  for  pleasure  driving  him  away  from  Beth,  affection 
and  remorse  drawing  him  back.  Had  Mrs.  Harmon  been 
the  deepest  of  schemers,  she  could  not  have  thrown  her 
weight  more  cleverly  against  Beth's.  Seeing  that  they 
were  approaching  a  corner,  which  might  separate  her 
from  Jim,  she  thought  only  to  continue  the  conversation; 
but  behold,  she  augmented  the  current  of  his  discontent. 
"  How  do  you  enjoy  working  under  Mr.  Mather.""'  she 
asked. 

The  gloom  deepened  on  Jim's  face.     "Mather's  kind 


Somethingf  New  151 

of — oh,  well,  he  expects  every  one  to  see  things  the  way 
he  does." 

"I  can  imagine  he's  strict,"  she  said. 

"He's  arbitrary!"  answered  Jim  emphatically. 

"It's  too  bad!"  she  responded  with  sympathy.  But 
they  were  at  the  comer,  and  she  stopped.  One  way  led 
down  town,  one  to  quieter  neighbourhoods — and  this 
in  morals  as  well  as  in  geography.  She  meant  not  to 
separate  from  Jim,  and  yet  how  to  keep  him,  or  go  with 
him?  Mere  instinct  guided  her  again,  and  this  time 
she  gave  herself  to  it  and  followed  without  further 
thought. 

"Well?"  she  asked,  as  they  stood  still. 

"Well?"  echoed  Jim,  quite  blank,  yet  seeing  she 
expected  him  to  say  something. 

"Shall  I  go  one  way,  or  the  other?"  she  demanded. 

"One  way,  or  the  other?"  he  repeated  stupidly. 

"I  meant  to  make  calls,"  she  said,  accenting  the 
preterit,  "but  if  you  should  ask  me"  (accenting  the  aux- 
iliary) "to  go  with  you  to  see  the  rest  of  that  play " 

She  made  no  finish,  but  cocked  her  head  and  looked  past 
him,  sidewise. 

"Gad ! "  cried  Jim,  staring. 

"Ah,  well !"  she  sighed,  turning  away. 

"Come  on!"  he  exclaimed.  "Come  along,  Mrs. 
Harmon.     Jove,  it  will  be  great  fun  ! " 

"Why,  I  didn't  really  mean  it,"  she  replied,  but 
smiling  gaily. 

She  was  everything  that  Beth  was  not:  pronounced, 
vivacious,  multi-coloured.  She  was  handsome,  red- 
cheeked,  bright  of  eye,  and  if  she  was  a  little  hard  of 
glance,  Jim  did  not  perceive  it.  She  pleased  him;  he 
urged  her  again. 

"Well,  I  can  do  some  shopping,"  she  said  with  a 
teasing  accent  of  reflection,  and  went  down  town  by  his 


IS*  The  Batticf 

side.     The  theater  was  not  far;  when  they  reached  it, 
she  made  as  if  to  pass  on,     "Good-bye,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Harmon!"  cried  he. 

"You  really  mean  you  want  me  to  come  in?"  she 
asked. 

"Of  course!"  insisted  Jim,  and  lied  manfully.  "I 
wanted  it  all  the  time." 

"I  haven't  seen  this  play,"  she  said,  reflecting.  "My 
husband  never  takes  me  to  the  theater." 

"Then  let  me,"  he  urged.  A  strain  of  music  was 
wafted  out  as  she  hesitated.     "See,  we're  losing  some.' 

"How  funny,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  and  smiling 
"to  go  in  this  way.  But  it's  a  lark,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Wayne 
Come  on,  then !"  She  stepped  before  him  to  the  door 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  in  the  theater  together. 

There  were  again  the  dusk,  the  rustle,  and  the  music 
Some  voice  beyond  the  footlights  called  '' Zwei 
bier!"  and  a  laugh  followed  from  the  audience.  A 
noiseless  usher  led  the  two  to  their  seats,  which  they 
took  while  watching  the  woman  on  the  stage  doubtfully 
circling  away  from  the  waiter  who  had  spilt  beer  on  her 
before.  The  second  act  was  not  yet  finished;  there 
were  ten  minutes  more  before  the  curtain  went  down, 
which  it  did  just  as  the  actress  turned  a  somersault, 
quite  modestly.  The  third  act  was  even  more  capri- 
ciously humorous  than  the  other  two. 

Mrs.  Harmon  and  Jim  enjoyed  themselves  keenly,  the 
thrill  of  the  unusual  companionship  adding  excitement 
to  the  pleasure.  At  last  she  was  with  him;  for  the  first 
time  he  was  with  some  one  else  than  Beth.  He  still  had 
enough  resentment  against  Beth  to  feel  that  he  was 
serving  her  right;  he  compared  her  with  Mrs.  Harmon; 
he  wished  Beth  were  more — ^well,  sensible.  Mrs. 
Harmon  displayed  an  abundance  of  sense;  she  saw  the 
good  points ;  jokes  that  Beth  would  have  missed  entirely 


Something:  New  153 

were  not  lost  on  Mrs.  Harmon.  When  they  walked  to 
her  house  together  she  spoke  most  appreciatively  of  the 
extravaganza.     If  Beth  could  but  be  thus  ! 

But  most  of  all  Jim  felt  that  he  pleased  a  woman. 
Mrs.  Harmon  leaned  to  him  at  times,  put  her  face  near 
his;  he  felt  her  breath;  once  in  the  theater  her  hair 
touched  him.  She  was  sympathetic  and  confidential; 
they  reached  the  "you-and-I"  stage  very  quickly. 
Thus: 

"If  the  Judge  were  only  a  little  more  like  you,  Mr. 
Wayne  ! "  This  at  beginning;  then,  "I  had  thought  you 
so  stately,  Mr,  Wayne,  but  we  seem  to  have  just  the 
same  tastes,"  Those  tastes  were  discussed  next,  putting 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  on  a  lower  plane,  so  that  "how 
amusing  others  are"  was  a  natural  conclusion,  and  Jim 
realised  that  he  and  she  were  looking  upon  life  as  on  a 
spectacle. 

In  this  there  was  flattery  beyond  his  power  to  resist; 
there  was,  besides,  a  suggestion  too  subtle  for  him  to 
perceive  at  first.  She  made  it  plain  that  because  her 
husband  and  she  were  not  congenial,  she  went  with  Jim; 
but  for  a  time  the  corollary  escaped  him — that  because 
he  had  gone  with  her,  therefore  he  and  Beth  were  not 
at  one.  He  saw  only  that  he  was  taking  a  vacant 
place,  and  that  she  was  grateful  to  him. 

At  her  door  Mrs.  Harmon  looked  at  him,  smiling 
doubtfully.     "I  would  ask  you  in,  only " 

Jim  had  grown  bold.     "Well,  why?" 

"No,  no!  It  would  never  do — not  after  what  we 
have  already  done.  And  you  will  of  course  not 
say  anything  about  this,  Mr,  Wayne?"  she  added 
seriously. 

Thus  the  final  idea  came  to  him  that  they  two  had  1 
been  near,  very  near,  the  border-line  of  convention. 
"Not  really?  "he  asked. 


154  The  Barrier 

"Of  course  Miss  Blanchard,  if  you  wish,"  she 
answered. 

"Shall  I  even  tell  her?"  he  said,  trying  to  look 
knowing, 

"You  bad  man!"  she  murmured,  bending  to  him. 
"But  it  has  been  great  fun!"  Then  she  ran  up  the 
steps.  As  Jim  walked  away  he  suppressed  his  gratifica- 
tion, and  endeavoured  to  estimate  her  character.  She 
was  quite  different  from  what  people  thought  her. 

That  evening  he  dined  with  his  mother;  afterwards 
he  went  to  the  club.  But  the  sense  of  guilt  grew  on  him, 
and  drove  him  at  last  to  the  Blanchards*.  There  Beth 
was  still  watching  for  him,  so  unhappy  !  She  sobbed  in 
his  arms,  begging  his  pardon — yes,  the  poor  little  thing 
begged  his  pardon,  and  Jim  forgave  her. 

He  did  not  tell  her  of  Mrs.  Harmon,  nor  did  he  stay 
late,  for  he  had  to  travel  to  Chebasset.  It  was  not  of 
Beth  that  he  thought  most  in  the  train.  Beth  had  only 
called  him  a  naughty  boy;  Mrs.  Harmon  said  he  was  a 
bad  man.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  pleasantly  wicked, 
like  the  fellows  in  New  York  or  Paris,  going  about  with 
married  women. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Which  Deals  with  Several  of  Our  Personages 

It  is  assumed  in  many  fairy  tales  that  the  story  ends 
with  the  engagement,  the  beginning  of  which  marks  the 
end  of  trouble.  But  love,  though  a  solvent  of  selfishness, 
works  slowly,  and  the  added  friction  of  constant  com- 
panionship is  needed  to  make  its  results  perfect.  Tem- 
perament and  taste,  therefore,  during  an  engagement 
retain  most  of  their  power.  Thus  it  is  not  surprising 
that  two  months  were  not  sufficient  to  harden  Beth 
Blanchard  to  the  roughness  of  her  lover's  embraces; 
she  even  found  further  faults  in  him. 

Of  these  shadows  on  his  happiness  Jim  became  early 
aware,  and  obeying  a  passion  which  had  not  yet  lost  all 
its  purity  or  force,  he  had  endeavoured  to  modify 
himself  to  suit  the  conditions  which  Beth  very  gently 
imposed.  He  became  less  anthropophagous,  moderating 
the  violence  of  his  kisses ;  he  came  very  near  to  estimating 
the  value  of  her  modesty,  which  formed  the  essence  of  her 
sweetness.  But  he  was  already  so  much  of  a  man  that 
he  felt  his  superiority,  and  still  so  much  of  a  boy  that  he 
fretted  at  restraint.  To  expect  him  to  stay  always 
contented  at  Beth's  side  was  like  asking  him  to  admire 
Mozart  when  he  had  rag-time  in  his  blood.  Her  dainty 
harmonies  were  foreign  to  him. 

One  Saturday  evening  he  was  at  the  Blanchards' 
when  Mather  came  to  call.  Beth  proposed  to  go  into 
the  front  parlour  and  speak  to  him.  Jim  objected.  "He 
comes  for  your  sister ;  and  besides,  I  see  enough  of  him 
during  the  week," 

155 


156  The  Baftiet 

But  above  her  friendship  for  Mather,  Beth  possessed 
that  spirit  of  hospitaHty — old-fashioned,  to  be  sure — 
which  impelled  her  to  greet  each  visitor  that  came  to 
the  house.  Further,  she  felt  that  to  keep  out  of  sight 
of  all  who  came,  while  yet  she  was  within  hearing,  was 
not  in  the  best  of  taste.  "  But  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a 
long  time,"  she  said.  "And — I  think  we'd  better  go, 
Jim,  if  only  for  a  little  while." 

"Cut  it  short,  then,"  he  grumbled,  and  followed  her 
through  the  curtains. 

"Much  of  a  suitor  he  is !"  thought  Jim,  as  he  noticed 
how  gladly  Mather  rose  from  Judith's  side  and  greeted 
Beth,  Perhaps  Judith  thought  the  same.  There  was 
a  wholesome  freshness  about  Beth  which  often  brought 
men's  eyes  to  her  and  kept  them  there.  Jim  was  usually 
proud  of  it;  now  it  irritated  him.  Moreover,  he  was 
left  to  talk  with  Judith,  and  that  he  had  found  to  be 
difficult.  Therefore,  when  he  had  had  more  than 
enough  of  her  monosyllables,  and  felt  that  he  had  made 
a  fool  of  himself  in  his  efforts  to  entertain  her,  he  tried 
to  break  into  the  talk  of  the  other  two.  Beth  had  been 
speaking  of  Chebasset. 

"A  hole  !"  said  Jim,  rising  and  standing  by  her  chair. 
"An  awful  hole!" 

Mather  laughed;  Beth  gave  Jim  a  distressed  little 
smile.  "You  did  well  to  get  away  and  leave  the  work 
to  me,"  continued  Jim,  addressing  his  superior.  He 
tried,  successfully,  for  the  effect  of  the  true  word  spoken 
in  jest.     "Winter  coming  on,  too." 

Mather  laughed  again.  "Jim,"  he  said,  "I  went 
through  all  that  when  I  was  your  age,  and  worked  at  the 
machines  besides." 

"You  see,  Jim,"  said  Beth,  "how  much  further 
ahead  you  are  than  George." 

"Nothing  wonderful,"  he  answered,  for  her  remark 


Dealing  With  Several  of  Out  Personages       157 

went  wrong.  So  did  his  own;  Mather  exchanged  a 
glance  with  Judith,  and  Beth  shrank.  Jim  put  his  arm 
around  her  neck.  "Well,  well,"  he  went  on,  "let's  not 
talk  business." 

Beth  removed  the  arm,  gently,  as  she  rose.  "Yes, 
we'll  forget  all  that  till  Monday,"  she  said,  and  moved 
toward  the  door  again.  "We  just  came  in  to  say  good- 
evening,  George."  She  and  Jim  went  away,  to  begin 
a  struggle  of  temperaments. 

"Why  did  you  stay  so  long  there?"  he  asked  at  once. 

"But  Jim,"  she  explained,  "a  little  more  makes  no 
real  difference,  and  is  so  much  more  polite." 

"It  makes  a  difference  to  me,"  he  retorted,  "when  I 
have  to  talk  with  your  sister.  Dam  it,  you  know  she 
and  I  never  get  on." 

She  winced  at  his  expletive,  which  seemed  to  hint  of 
something  stronger,  and  so  was  just  as  bad.  "Don't," 
she  pleaded.     "I — I'm  sorry  about  Judith,  Jim." 

"I  might  be  allowed  to  say  dam  sometimes,"  he  com- 
plained.    "Most  men  say  something  worse." 

"It's  just — manners,  Jim,"  she  answered.  "And 
don't  you  think  the  way  you  spoke  to  George,  when  so 
much  depends  upon  him " 

"Look  here,  Beth,"  he  interrupted,  "am  I  not  a  fair 
judge  of  my  own  behaviour?" 

"I  didn't  say  that,  dear !"  she  cried. 

"He  needn't  give  himself  such  airs,  anyway,"  Jim 
went  on.     "  Pease  is  my  boss,  not  Mather." 

"Oh,  I  think  you  mistake,"  she  said. 

"  Pease  gave  me  the  place,"  Jim  persisted,  "because — 
you  know." 

The  reference  hurt  poor  Beth,  to  whom  the  thought  of 
Pease  was  distress.  "Don't  speak  of  it,  dear,"  she 
begged. 

"It's  so,"  asserted  Jim.     "But  you'd  think  Mather 


I  $8  The  Barrict 

was  my  father,  from  the  advice  he  gave  me.  Great  fun 
it  was,  for  you  to  give  him  another  chance  at  me  ! " 

There  was  nothing  for  her  except  submission.  "I'm 
sorry,"  she  said.  But  Beth  was  not  meek;  she  let  him 
see,  by  tone  and  manner,  that  she  yielded  only  because 
she  was  overborne.  Therefore  he  gave  another  thrust 
to  make  his  conquest  sure. 

"I'm  sorry  you  don't  like  my  arm  about  your  neck," 
he  said.     "Please  excuse  me  for  putting  it  there." 

She  went  close  to  him.  "Only  when  other  people 
are  about,"  she  explained,  and  put  up  her  face.  "You 
may — kiss  me  now,  Jim,  if  you  want  to." 

Beth  would  have  been  glad  even  of  one  of  his  en- 
gulfing embraces,  as  a  sign  of  reconciliation;  but  he 
kissed  her  gingerly  and  then  sat  down,  not  on  the  sofa, 
but  on  a  chair.  Next  he  was  surly  for  a  while ;  then  he 
rose  to  go. 

"I'm  tired,"  he  said.     "It's  been  a  hard  week." 

After  that  lie  her  sympathy  was  a  reproach.  "I'm 
so  sorry,"  she  whispered,  caressing  him.  "If  I  was 
cross,  forgive  me,  dear.  You  do  work  hard  for  me." 
No  accusation  could  have  cut  deeper;  he  could  scarcely 
look  her  in  the  eyes  as  he  said  good-night  at  the  door. 

Poor  Beth  laid  her  forehead  against  the  dull  wood, 
and  listened  to  his  footsteps  until  they  were  gone.  It 
worried  her  that  Jim  was  tired,  and  that  she,  not  under- 
standing, had  been  hard  on  him.  She  wished  her 
perceptions  had  been  quicker ;  she  resolved  to  study  how 
to  please  him.     Poor,  simple  Beth ! 

Jim,  grumbling  at  his  crosses,  went  homeward,  but 
not  home.  For  the  Harmon  house  was  by  his  way;  he 
saw  lights  in  the  lower  windows,  and  he  loitered.  Next, 
he  went  and  rang  the  bell.  He  was  shown  into  the 
parlour,  into  a  new  atmosphere,  for  Mrs.  Harmon  rose 
with  evident  gladness  from  her  book,   and  her  very 


Dealing  With  Several  of  Out  Personages       159 

greeting  changed  his  mood.  The  Judge  was  in  his 
study ;  should  she  call  him  ?  Jim  took  his  cue  from  the 
flash  of  her  eye.  "No,  no  !"  he  cried,  and  they  laughed 
together. 

And  as  he  sat  and  looked  at  her — what  a  difference ! 
There  was  fullness  of  good  looks  in  the  face,  far  more 
pronounced  than  Beth's;  the  shoulder  was  plump,  the 
arm  firm  and  pink.  Beth  never  showed  such  attrac- 
tions as  these,  having  the  feeling  that  modesty  became 
a  girl.  But  though  Mrs.  Harmon  was  no  longer  young, 
"Gad!"  thought  Jim,  "if  girls  only  knew  as  much  as 
women!"  Mrs.  Harmon  brought  cigarettes;  she  joked 
him  as  a  man  would.     Jolly,  this  was  ! 

Jim   took   a   cigarette   from   the   case   she   offered. 
"You're  sure  you  don't  mind  the  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"I?  Mind  the  smoke?"  she  returned.  "I  like  it  so 
much  that — what  do  you  think  of  my  box?"  She 
closed  the  cigarette-case  and  showed  him  its  cover, 
standing  by  his  side  as  he  sat. 

"Swell!"  said  Jim.  "Those  Cupids  with  masks  are 
simply  slap!  Whose  initials,  Mrs.  Harmon?  Yours?" 
He  laughed. 

"Why  not  mine  ? "  she  asked. 

"L.  H.,"  read  Jim.  "L.  is  the  Judge's  initial,  I 
know." 

"My  name  is  Lydia,"  she  said.  "And  my  husband's 
name  is  Abiel,  Mr.  Wayne." 

Jim  rose  hastily.  "Then  this  is  really  your  case, 
Mrs.  Harmon.  And  do  you — will  you — smoke  with 
me?" 

"Of  course  I  will ! "  she  cried. 

Jim  felt  himself  very  much  indeed  like  those  fellows 
in  New  York  or  Paris.  She  smoked  gracefully;  the 
movements  displayed  her  hand  and  the  long,  bare, 
beautiful  arm.     The  shoulder  rounded  as  she  raised  the 


i6o  The  Baffiet 

cigarette  to  her  lips;  even  shoulder-straps  would  have 
marred  that  display.  But  while  he  admired,  with  a 
sudden  movement  she  cast  the  cigarette  into  the  fire- 
place: some  one  was  at  the  front  door. 

It  was  Ellis.  "Oh,  it's  only  you,  Stephen,"  she  said, 
when  his  short  form  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "I 
needn't  have  spoiled  my  smoke,  after  all." 

"You  needn't  have  stopped  anything  for  me,"  said 
Ellis,  and  added:  "Just  dropped  in  to  inquire  for  the 
Judge." 

Jim  perceived,  from  Mrs,  Harmon's  laughter,  that 
this  was  a  byword  with  her  intimates ;  he  offered  her  the 
box  of  cigarettes,  and  when  she  chose  one,  struck  a 
match. 

"No,  no  !"  she  cried,  "your  cigarette." 

She  took  it  from  him,  her  fingers  brushing  his;  she 
lighted  her  own  and  then  offered  his  again.  But  when 
he  was  about  to  take  it:  "No,  your  mouth!"  she 
ordered,  and  obediently  he  opened  his  mouth  to  receive 
it.  Then  she  began  to  laugh  at  him,  richly  and  infec- 
tiously, so  that  he  laughed  with  her,  but  did  not  miss 
the  spectacle  she  presented.  Standing  with  her  back 
against  the  center  table,  she  leaned  with  her  hands  upon 
it;  her  shoulders  became  more  attractive  than  ever,  and 
between  them  rose  the  swelling  throat.  He  laughed 
with  delight,  and  letting  his  eye  wander  over  those 
charms,  he  missed  the  glances,  amused  and  defiant, 
which  passed  between  Mrs.  Harmon  and  Ellis. 

"So  you're  up  to  this,  Lydia?"  he  seemed  to  inquire, 
but  she  to  respond:     "Do  not  you  interfere,  sir!" 

There  is  no  analysing  those  processes  by  which  we 
find  our  affinities,  no  theory  of  chance  which  will 
satisfactorily  account  for  the  meetings  of  like  states  of 
mind.  But  here  were  Jim,  once  peevish,  and  Mrs. 
Harmon,   once  bored,   quite  satisfied  at  last  in  each 


Dealing:  With  Sevetal  of  Out  Personages      16 1 

other's  company,  and  before  long  making  this  so  evident 
that  EUis  perceived  that  he  had  interrupted.  They 
left  him  out;  Jim  spoke  to  him  from  time  to  time,  or 
Mrs.  Harmon  turned  on  him  that  same  warning  glance. 
But  if  they  chose  to  act  so,  Ellis  did  not  care;  in  fact,  an 
idea  came  to  him,  and  he  smiled  as  he  watched  Jim,  like 
an  astronomical  body,  moving  along  the  line  of  least 
resistance. 

For  Ellis  had  just  parted  from  Colonel  Blanchard, 
who  had  called  on  him.  Ellis  had  received  the  Colonel 
in  the  one  room  of  his  mansion  which  revealed  daily 
occupancy,  which  no  housekeeper  might  invade  with 
duster  or  broom.  From  among  many  papers  in  many 
cases,  Ellis  drew  Blanchard's  promissory  note,  and 
silently  laid  it  before  him. 

"You  come  to  redeem  this?"  he  asked.  "More  than 
prompt.  Colonel  Blanchard." 

The  Colonel  did  not  offer  to  explain  with  exactness. 
Likft'  that  person  in  the  fairy  tale  who  sought  to  recover 
the  lost  cheeses  by  rolling  others  after  them,  Blanchard 
had  been  throwing  his  dollars  into  the  bottomless  pit 
of  the  stock-market  and  expecting  them  to  return  many- 
fold.  But  he  had  broken  the  ice  once  with  ElHs ;  it  was 
easier  now.  He  had,  he  said,  been — ^unfortunate. 
But  if  Mr.  Ellis  would  only  advance  a  little  more,  he  had 
not  the  slightest  doubt  of  repaying  in  full,  and  very  soon. 

Ellis  knew  the  signs  of  the  gambler ;  absolute  certainty 
of  making  good  his  losses,  equal  vagueness  as  to  sources 
of  supply.  He  made  out  another  check;  the  Colonel 
signed  another  note.  They  parted,  but  now,  here  at 
the  Harmons',  Wayne  seemed  to  recall  the  Colonel  by 
his  shallow,  gentlemanly  ways. 

Months  ago  Judith  had  told  Ellis  that  his  way  lay 
through  the  men.  There  were  only  three  who  in  any 
degree,  through  any  feeling,  might  influence  her  in  his 


i62  The  Bamcf 

favour.  One  was  Mather:  out  of  the  question.  One 
was  the  Colonel:  he  was  secure.  The  third  was  Wayne, 
of  whom,  for  her  sister's  sake,  Judith  wished  to  make 
more  of  a  man.  During  his  stay  Ellis  was  mostly  silent, 
studying  this  new  problem. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
Judith  Buys  a  Typewriter 

As  the  winter  advanced,  Judith  found  herself  never 
free  from  her  struggle,  the  interest  of  which  grew  not 
only  greater,  but  at  times  intense.  For  gossip,  as  she 
foresaw,  was  busy  with  her  name;  and  though  as  yet 
she  had  not  braved  her  circle  in  the  endeavour  to  bring 
Ellis  in,  her  friends  took  occasion  to  disapprove  of  her 
acquaintance  with  him.  The  disapproval  being  con- 
veyed to  her  in  a  dozen  ways,  Judith  was  frequently  in 
a  blaze  of  anger  at  people's  officiousness,  or  as  often 
contemptuous  of  their  curiosity.  Since  interference 
was  always  enough  to  make  her  obstinate,  her  friends 
had  no  other  effect  on  her  than  to  make  her  welcome 
Ellis  more  kindly  than  ever. 

An  unforeseen  factor  in  her  troubles  was  the  state  of 
public  affairs.  Judith  read  the  papers  diligently;  she 
perceived  a  general  increase  of  opposition  to  Ellis.  This 
did  not  disturb  her,  since  your  true  student  is  aware 
that  the  public  is  as  often  wrong  as  right.  And  at  first 
she  took  no  interest  in  the  search  for  a  leader  which  was 
conducted  by  that  usually  impotent  party,  the  Re- 
formers. These  gentlemen  had  so  often,  in  Judith's 
hearing,  been  gently  ridiculed  as  milk-and-water 
politicians,  that  even  amusement  ceased  within  her  as 
she  read  anew  of  their  efforts.  Any  campaign  which  they 
should  conduct  would  be  the  usual  formal  and  ineffectual 
protest  against  "practical  politics";  their  candidate 
would  be,  as  always,  an  obscure  person  with  no  claim  on 

163 


1 64  The  Baffler 

public  regard.  Judith's  interest  woke  very  suddenly 
when  it  was  whispered  that  the  reform  candidate  was  to 
be  George  Mather. 

Now  she  should  see  Mather  and  Ellis  directly  meas- 
ured, and  could  know  the  strength  of  each.  And  yet 
all  this  was  still  far  away,  while  another  matter  was  of 
nearer  interest:  the  rumour  of  a  street-railway  strike. 
Wages  had  been  lowered  and  the  men  were  discon- 
tented; so  also  were  the  patrons  of  the  road.  The 
efficiency  of  the  service  had  greatly  fallen  off,  and  the 
reform  newspaper  boldly  dated  the  change  at  Mather's 
loss  of  the  presidency,  charging  Ellis  with  the  desire  to 
make  money  at  the  public's  expense.  Judith  sniffed 
at  an  accusation  which  she  believed  would  refute  itself; 
she  wondered  that  men  should  still  trust  in  campaign 
calumnies.  One  statement  alone  caused  her  serious 
thought,  namely  the  claim,  soberly  made,  that  in  manag- 
ing the  details  of  a  great  enterprise  rather  than  attending 
to  its  finance  Ellis  was  beyond  his  depth.  But  at  the 
call  to  the  public  to  insist  upon  proper  treatment  as 
well  as  to  avert  the  calamity  of  a  great  strike  Judith 
smiled  to  herself.  The  public  never  interested  itself  in 
anything;  and  besides,  this  was  none  of  the  public's 
business. 

Yet,  though  Judith  was  right  in  thinking  that  the 
management  of  the  street-railway  company  concerned 
the  stockholders  alone,  and  though  her  estimate  of  the 
general  harmlessness  of  the  reform  party  was  quite 
correct,  her  interest  in  Mather  was  renewed.  Judith 
was  always  very  well  aware  of  her  states  of  mind,  and 
had  noted  by  this  time  that  whenever  her  interest  in 
Ellis's  brilliancy  relaxed,  she  was  certain  to  find  Mather 
doggedly  adding  to  his  own  achievements.  And  she 
granted  it  to  be  much  in  his  favour  that  though  he  lacked 
the  fascinating  abilities  of  his  keener  rival,  he  had  a 


Judith  Buys  a  Typewriter  165 

formidable  solidity.  The  very  fact  that  his  name  was 
used  in  connection  with  the  reform  nomination,  gave 
that  nomination  seriousness. 

Still,  the  caucus  was  months  ahead,  and  it  was  hard 
to  believe  that  Ellis,  who  had  never  yet  failed,  could 
botch  the  management  of  the  street-railway.  Men 
should  be  easier  to  manage  than  securities.  And 
though  she  received  Mather  kindly  whenever  he  came,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  feel  more  interest  in  the  man  who 
came  oftener,  stayed  longer,  and  spoke  most  of  himself. 
Mather  had  spoken  of  himself  but  once ;  he  did  not  seek, 
as  Ellis  did,  to  be  alone  with  her,  and  no  longer  showed 
the  repressed  eagerness  of  a  suitor.  He  was  easy, 
deliberate,  never  preoccupied,  and  took  no  pains  what- 
ever to  forward  himself  with  her. 

On  that  evening  when  Beth  had  dragged  unwilling 
Jim  into  the  front  parlour,  to  her  consequent  unhappi- 
ness,  Mather  showed  no  impatience  at  the  interruption; 
he  even  rose  again  gladly  when,  Jim  having  gone,  poor 
Beth  came  creeping  back  again, 

"George,"  said  Beth  timidly,  "Jim  was  a  little — 
rude,  just  now." 

"No,  no,"  he  answered  heartily.  "Don't  think  of 
it,  Beth." 

"If  you  will  bear  with  him,"  she  pursued,  "I  think 
he  will  come  to  see  how  much  he  owes  you." 

"Of  course  he  will,"  he  agreed.  "Not  that  I'm 
anxious  for  any  acknowledgment.  I  understand  he's 
lonely,  Beth." 

"He    is,"    she    stated    eagerly.      "He    misses " 

She  blushed,  and  added  hurriedly,  "And  much  of  what 
he  says  is  just  manner." 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  him?"  he  asked.  "Now 
don't  worry,  Beth.  Just  keep  him  to  his  work,  and  he'll 
cotue  o^it  «>.11  right." 


i66  The  Barrier 

He  took  her  hand;  she  looked  up  shyly.  "Do  you 
think  me  foolish,  George?" 

"Fond  used  to  mean  foolish,"  he  answered.  "We'll 
call  you  fond.  Jim  must  succeed  with  you  to  back 
him  ! "     And  he  kissed  her  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Beth,  doubtless  referring  to  the 
encouragement,  "Thank  you  so  much,  George  !  Good- 
night." 

"Poor  little  thing  !"  said  Mather,  as  he  seated  himself 
after  she  had  gone.     "She's  not  happy,  Judith." 

"It's  Jim,"  she  answered. 

"Have  you  any  influence  over  him?"  he  asked. 
"If  you  have,  make  him  work." 

"I  noticed,"  she  remarked,  "that  you  did  not  tell 
Beth  that  she  has  no  cause  for  worry.  Is  he  not  satis- 
factory?" 

"It  may  be  inexperience,"  he  answered,  "it  may  be 
just  Jim;  I  haven't  decided  yet.  The  work  isn't  hard, 
for  the  foreman  looks  after  everything  mechanical,  yet 
our  product  is  much  less  than  it  should  be.  All  I 
need  to  do  is  to  go  and  sit  in  the  Chebasset  office  for  an 
hour,  without  opening  the  door  into  the  mill,  and  if  the 
men  know  I'm  there  we  turn  out  six  hundred  pounds 
more  that  day." 

The  statement  was  not  surprising,  as  Judith  compared 
Jim  with  the  man  before  her.  "You  think  he  will  not 
suit." 

"I  don't  say  that  yet,"  he  replied.  "But  it's  very 
unpleasant,  doing  business  with  your  friends." 

Again  she  sat  watching  him  as  he  stared  into  the  fire, 
but  not  with  the  emotion  of  that  former  time,  for  the 
state  of  mind  which  Beth  had  aroused  was  passing. 
She  thought  of  Mather,  with  unimpassioned  interest, 
as  a  fine  type  of  man ;  but  it  was  undeniable  that,  emo- 
tion being  absent,  Ellis  took  an  increasingly  greater 


Jwdith  Bwys  a  Typewritef  167 

share  of  her  thoughts,  and  stirred  her  imagination  more. 
The  world  was  growing  larger  before  her,  not  the  world 
of  society  but  of  the  World's  Work,  the  Harper's  Weekly, 
almost  of  the  Scientific  American,  those  magazines  which 
express  the  spirit  of  modern  enterprise  and  hardheaded- 
ness,  and  from  which  she  drew  her  current  information. 
One  of  them  had  recently  published  Ellis's  portrait; 
Judith  glanced  from  Mather  to  the  table  whereon  the 
magazine  was  at  this  moment  lying,  and  compared 
the  two  men  as,  but  a  few  moments  before,  she  had 
contrasted  Jim  and  Mather.  Now  it  was  Mather  who 
stood  at  the  little  end  of  the  sign  of  inequality ;  Ellis  was 
the  giant  and  Mather  the  mere  man.  Rumour  set  them 
against  each  other,  but  though  Judith  had  heard  the 
whisper,  "Mather  is  back,"  she  had  also  seen  the  smiles 
as  people  added:     "Now  what  will  he  do?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mather,  rousing;  "between  us  we  can 
help  Jim  along."  Then  he  rose,  and  though  it  was 
early,  said  good-night.  He  left  her  wondering  at  his 
method  of  cheerful  entrance  and  speedy  exit,  his  manner 
of  being  at  home  in  her  presence.  But  after  more 
thinking,  she  laid  this  to  the  fact  that  he  had  nothing 
on  his  mind. 

Yet  he  was  conscious  of  a  future  which  beckoned 
him,  and  of  ambitions,  not  of  his  own  creating,  which 
stood  ready  for  him  to  assume.  He  knew  that  it  was 
said  that  Mather  had  returned,  knew  that  the  idle  were 
smiling,  the  serious  were  watching  to  see  what  he  would 
do.  Not  only  Pease,  Fenno,  Watson,  Branderson,  those 
four  powers,  held  an  expectant  attitude  toward  him, 
but  the  reform  politicians  did  the  same.  He  knew  the 
public  feeling  toward  abuses  might  easily  be  roused, 
vexed  and  alarmed  as  people  were  with  the  street 
railroad.  A  determined  man,  in  whom  the  city  had 
confidence,  could  easily  draw  many  votes  to  himself. 


i68  The  Battier 

But  "wait,"  he  said  to  himself,  "it's  not  yet  time." 
He  had  been  approached  only  by  Pease,  who  inquired: 
"  Have  you  any  street-railway  stock  ? "  but  when  Mather 
replied  he  had.  Pease  merely  begged  him  not  to  sell,  and 
said  no  more.  Yet  there  had  been  that  in  Pease's 
manner  which  meant  much. 

Mather  and  Judith  were  far  apart  in  these  days;  he 
sighed  as  he  thought  of  the  distance  between  them,  and 
turned  more  willingly  to  the  distractions  which  politics 
and  business  offered.  He  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  his  opportunities  closer  at  hand,  that  he  might 
throw  himself  into  the  work.  Judith,  on  the  other 
hand,  shrank  when  first  her  future  came  suddenly 
near. 

Her  father  came  home  late  one  afternoon;  going  to 
greet  him,  she  had  found  him  in  the  library,  unwrapping 
a  parcel.  The  Colonel,  obeying  his  impulse  toward 
extravagance,  had  picked  up  down  town  a — wait  till  she 
saw  it ! 

"It's  very  much  tied  up,"  said  Judith. 

"It's  rather  a  valuable  thing,"  answered  her  father, 
struggling  with  the  string.  "If  only  I  had  it  out  here, 
I'd  cut  this  twine." 

" Is  it  a  pair  of  scissors  ? "  she  asked.  "Slip  the  string 
over  the  end,  sir." 

The  Colonel  displayed  it  at  last,  a  Japanese  dagger. 
Its  hilt  and  sheath  were  massive  ivory,  yellow  with  age, 
carved  deeply  with  grotesques  of  men  in  combat.  A 
grinning  mask  formed  the  pommel,  a  writhing  dragon 
the  guard;  the  warriors  were  grappling,  hand  to  hand. 
The  Colonel  offered  the  knife  to  Judith.  "Look  at 
it,"  he  said  with  pride. 

Something  made  Judith  draw  back.  "I — it's  been 
used." 

The  Colonel  was  irritated.     "Upon  my  word,  Judith, 


Judith  Buys  a  Typcwrftet  169 

I  should  think  you  were  Beth.  Of  course  it's  been 
used;  you  can  see  that  on  the  blade.     Look  ! " 

He  drew  it  from  the  sheath.  The  blade  was  of  the 
usual  stout  Japanese  model,  with  a  quick  edge  which 
much  whetting  had  made  very  fine.  An  injury  had 
marred  the  symmetry  of  the  weapon:  it  was  evident 
that  an  eighth  of  an  inch  had  been  broken  from  the 
point,  which,  ground  again  as  sharp  as  ever,  had  lost 
in  beauty  but  gained  in  suggestiveness.  The  Colonel 
touched  the  point. 

"On  armour  or  on  bone,  do  you  suppose?"  he  asked. 

Judith  had  recovered  herself.  "You're  rather  grew- 
some,  sir." 

"Hang  it,"  he  complained,  sheathing  the  knife  again. 
"I  thought  you'd  like  it.  But  Jim  will,  anyway."  He 
laid  the  knife  on  the  table. 

"You're  not  going  to  keep  it  there?"  she  asked. 

"Indeed  I  am,"  he  answered.  "Don't  look  at  it  if 
you  don't  want  to."  He  started  to  go,  then  paused. 
"Judith,  I  have  asked  Mr.  Ellis  to  dinner." 

She  was  surprised  by  the  statement,  so  suddenly 
made  and  of  such  deep  meaning.  All  she  could  do  was 
to  repeat  his  words.  "You  have  asked  Mr.  ElHs  to 
dinner?" 

"Gad!"  exclaimed  the  poor  Colonel.  "Is  anything 
wrong  with  you  this  afternoon?  You  are  hard  to 
please." 

"Oh,  if  you  asked  him  to  please  me "  she  was 

beginning. 

"Well,"  he  explained,  "what  else  could  I  do  when  he 
more  than  half  suggested  it?  I  couldn't  be  rude  to 
him.     I — he — ^we  are  pretty  good  friends." 

But  he  only  puzzled  her  the  more.  "You  are  pretty 
good  friends?"  asked  Judith,  again  repeating  his  words. 

This  conduct  on  her  part  made  the  Colonel  spring  to 


17©  The  Barrier 

the  door,  where  for  an  instant  he  stood  and  beat  his 
temples.  "A  woman's  a  devil!"  he  exclaimed  after 
that  interval,  and  stamped  upstairs. 

When  a  man's  behaviour  takes  this  turn,  or  his  phi- 
losophy leads  him  to  this  conclusion,  it  is  safe  for  the 
woman  to  assume  that  he  has  something  on  his  con- 
science.    Judith  stood  startled. 

On  what  terms  was  Ellis  with  her  father  that  he  could 
force  an  invitation  to  dinner  ?     And  his  object  ? 

She  watched  Ellis  during  that  first  meal  at  her  table. 
Judith  had  never  before  seen  him  in  evening  dress,  nor 
as  yet  considered  him  so  personally.  His  manners  were 
good,  his  behaviour  quiet ;  no  one  could  have  said  that  he 
was  not  a  fair  representation  of  a  gentleman.  That  he 
was  more  he  did  not  claim. 

"This  is  the  first  time,"  he  said,  as  he  went  in  with 
her  to  the  dining-room,  "that  I  have  dined  in  these 
togs  in  any  house  besides  my  own,  public  dinners  ex- 
cepted, of  course.     It  feels  stranger  than  I  expected." 

"Why  should  it  feel  strange?"  she  asked. 

"Because  I  was  not  bom  or  bred  to  it,  I  suppose." 

"Certainly,"  she  remarked,  "you  show  nothing  of 
what  you  feel." 

"When  I  was  a  boy,"  he  answered,  "when  I  lost  by 
being  too  eager  on  my  first  trade,  I  learned  never  again 
to  show  what  I  felt — ^unless  it's  my  purpose  to.  To  be 
quiet  and  steady,  looking  and  not  speaking — ^you  can't 
imagine  what  that  has  done  for  me." 

This  frankness  of  his,  which  she  felt  was  vouchsafed 
to  her  alone,  was  one  secret  of  his  success  with  Judith. 
She  was  interested  to  hear  him  acknowledge  himself  a 
learner ;  she  sympathised  with  his  effort  to  make  himself 
fit  to  sit  at  any  table ;  and  she  was  impressed  by  his  study 
of  manners  as  earlier  he  had  studied  men  and  markets. 
She  recognised  the  full  power  of  his  determination  and 


Judith  Buys  a  Typcwritef  171 

his  self-control.  But  also  she  felt  that  unmistakably 
she  knew  his  object.  And  her  father,  in  manner  almost 
deferential  to  Ellis,  consciously  or  not  was  his  ally. 

Ellis  made  no  approach  to  the  subject  which  was 
most  on  his  mind,  though  through  the  evening  he  sat 
alone  with  her  in  the  parlour.  He  spoke,  as  he  always 
did,  of  his  affairs.  Moreover,  he  went  away  early. 
But  Judith,  when  he  had  gone,  gazed  at  the  door  which 
had  closed  behind  him.  He  was  aiming  at  her !  All 
that  determination,  all  that  formidable  self-control, 
were  trained  upon  one  object:  herself.  Then  she  must 
look  forward,  and  decide. 

Did  she  wish  to  marry  Ellis  ?  She  found  no  reply  as 
she  tried  to  read  herself;  instead,  her  mind  was  confused 
by  a  lesser  question:  why  should  her  father  be  so  friendly 
to  him? 

It  would  not  be  fair  to  Judith  to  say  that  she  enjoyed 
the  sensation  created  by  her  intimacy  with  Ellis ;  never- 
theless she  found  piquancy  in  the  little  thrills  of  horror 
which  she  caused  in  her  circle.  For  she  knew  herself  to 
be  honestly  interested  by  Ellis's  Napoleonic  force, 
and  could  retaliate  upon  her  clique  by  amusement  at 
its  littleness.  She  looked  at  Ellis  with  clear  eyes, 
perceiving  little  flaws  which  his  great  powers  could 
condone.  Yet  at  the  same  time  she  understood  her 
friends'  sincerity  in  their  reprobation  of  him,  and  for- 
gave them  because  they  knew  no  better. 

She  was  perfectly  aware  that  her  father  had  no  greater 
caliber  than  that  general  to  his  class ;  without  the  slight- 
est filial  disrespect,  she  knew  that  the  Colonel  was  not 
capable  of  her  interest  in  Ellis  as  a  type  and  as  a  force. 
She  would  not  have  resented  opposition  from  her  father 
half  so  much  as  she  had  been  puzzled  at  his  acquiescence 
in  Ellis's  visits;  nor  would  she  have  been  surprised  by  a 
sudden   paternal  outburst   so   much   as   by   to-night's 


X7»  The  Barrier 

encouragement.  And  understanding  him  so  well,  she 
began  to  suspect  that  his  motives  were  different  from 
her  own,  were  lower,  and  that  his  interest  might  be 
personal.  Such  a  suspicion  of  her  father  was  quite 
enough  to  make  her  suspect  herself. 

Three  impulses  rose  within  her,  and  battled  together. 
The  first  was  the  old  ambition,  drawing  her  to  Ellis;  the 
second  was  refinement,  thrusting  her  away  from  him. 
The  third  was  maidenhood,  which  in  Beth  was  modest 
but  in  Judith  militant,  impelling  her  to  the  decision  to 
marry  nobody  at  all.     And  just  now  this  was  strongest. 

Nevertheless,  Judith  recognised  the  need  of  a  weapon 
or  at  least  a  shield  against  the  assaults  which  were  bound 
to  come.  She  was  not  so  sure  of  herself  that  she  dared 
depend  on  her  own  powers  alone.  Therefore  she 
needed  a  barrier  behind  which  to  retire  at  need,  and 
she  saw  but  one.  Friends  could  not  shield  her:  she  had 
too  few;  and  pride  stood  between  herself  and  Mather. 
Her  father  would  evidently  be  no  protection.  Even 
with  Beth  her  understanding  was  too  slight  to  be  put 
to  use.  Employment  alone  would  help  her,  and  of  all 
employments  only  one  attracted  her.  Yet  for  that  she 
could  be  preparing  herself. 

With  bent  head  she  went  into  the  sitting-room  where 
were  her  father  and  Beth ;  they  put  down  their  books  as 
she  entered,  and  from  the  table  the  Colonel  took  up  the 
Japanese  knife. 

"Beth  doesn't  like  this  much  more  than  you  do,"  he 
said. 

"It's  sinister,"  explained  Beth.  "All  it's  beauty 
conceals  a  threat;  it's  only  purpose  is  to  bring  death." 

"In  the  past,  in  the  past!"  protested  her  father, 
"It's  only  an  ornament  now." 

"Perfectly  horrid!"  This  from  Beth,  but  Judith 
said:     " It  must  have  cost  a  good  deal." 


Judith  Boys  a  Typewriter  173 

"Oh,    well "    the    Colonel    responded,    waving 

away  the  subject. 

"Father,"  said  Judith  abruptly,  "I  want  a  hundred 
dollars." 

"A  hundred  dollars  ! "  he  cried.  "Where  is  a  hundred 
dollars  to  come  from  in  a  jiffy?" 

"Beth  and  I  dislike  the  knife  so,"  she  suggested. 
"You  might  get  the  dealer  to  take  it  back." 

Experienced  women  know  how  unwilling  men  are 
to  return  boughten  articles.  "I  didn't  get  it  on  trial, 
like  a  wash-wringer,"  retorted  the  Colonel.  "What  do 
you  want  your  hundred  dollars  for?" 

"A  typewriter." 

"A  typewriter!"  he  exclaimed,  and  Beth  echoed  the 
word. 

Judith  made  no  explanation.  "Why,  that's  quite 
out  of  the  usual  line  of  expenditure,"  objected  the 
Colonel.     "It's  an  extravagance." 

"A  Japanese  dagger  might  be  called  an  extravagance," 
Judith  returned. 

"Then,"  answered  her  father,  "so  might  those  furs 
you  bought  the  other  day.  I  told  you  your  old  set  was 
good  enough." 

"  If  I  return  the  furs,"  she  asked,  "will  you  return  the 
dagger?" 

"No,  by  Jove!"  he  cried.  "It's  for  me  to  decide 
what  I  will  do  with  my  own.     I'm  the  provider." 

"And  you  provide  very  well,"  she  returned  sweetly. 

He  looked  at  her  with  suspicion  which  sprang  from 
remembrance  of  his  methods  as  provider,  but  since  she 
seemed  to  have  no  hidden  meaning  he  returned  to  his 
reading.  Judith,  still  sweetly,  bade  them  good- 
night. 

But  the  next  day  she  started  from  the  house  dressed 
in  all  the  glory  of  her  latest  possessions.     "Judith," 


174  The  Bamet 

asked  Beth,  "you  aren't  going  to  wear  those  furs  in  the 
morning?" 

"Say  good-by  to  them,"  answered  her  sister. 

"Judith!"  gasped  Beth.  But  Judith  only  smiled 
serenely  and  left  the  house.  By  the  assurance  in  bar- 
gaining which  always  carries  its  point,  and  which  is 
distinctly  feminine,  she  got  for  her  furs  exactly  what  she 
gave  for  them.  That  afternoon  a  typewriter  was  de- 
livered at  the  house. 

It  was  Mather  who  had  helped  her  to  buy  it,  Mathei 
who,  happening  into  the  store  while  she  was  there,  had 
told  her  that  the  increase  of  his  business  was  forcing 
him  to  employ  more  stenographers.  So  he,  even  by  the 
most  material  of  standards,  was  coming  on.  In  ordei 
to  forget  him,  she  was  forced  to  think  of  Ellis,  and  to 
repeat  such  aphorisms  as  Anyone  can  be  a  Gentleman, 
It  takes  Genius  to  be  a  Man.  But  after  she  had  thought 
of  Ellis  for  a  little  while,  again  came  the  revulsion. 

Judith,  when  in  her  chamber  she  first  removed  the 
cover  of  her  typewriter,  stood  for  a  long  while  gazing 
at  its  black  enamel  and  its  nickeled  keys.  The  machine 
became  a  symbol,  a  warning  of  fate,  and  though  in  the 
coming  days  she  practised  its  use  almost  eagerly,  the 
typewriter  never  lost  its  significance.  It  was  but  a 
feeble  defense  against  the  victor  of  the  two  rivals. 

Victor  ?  The  word  was  bitter.  It  came  always  with 
the  force  of  a  blow,  staggering  her  amazonian  spirit: 
must  she  yield  in  the  end?  Bitter,  indeed,  that  while 
she  rebelled  against  her  womanhood  she  was  forced 
to  recognise  and  dread  it.  Temporise  or  struggle  as 
she  might,  she  felt  that  there  lay  before  her  an  inevitable 
choice. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
"Put  Money  in  thy  Purse" 

While  Judith  Blanchard,  as  if  defying  fate,  held  her 
head  higher  than  before,  there  grew  on  one  of  our 
characters,  namely  Jim  Wayne,  the  habit  of  looking 
at  the  ground.  Jim  was  one  of  those  who, 
having  a  weak  Uttle  conscience,  cannot  be  wicked  with 
an  air. 

And  yet  Mrs.  Harmon,  if  she  saw  any  change  in  him, 
thought  it  was  for  the  better.  Into  her  eyes,  at  least, 
he  looked  freely;  his  glance  was  more  ardent,  and  only 
when  she  spoke  of  Beth  did  he  glower  and  look  away. 
In  their  conversations,  therefore,  Beth  was  no  longer 
mentioned.  Nor  did  he  ever  speak  to  Beth  of  his 
intimacy  with  Mrs.  Harmon. 

Thus  Beth  was  surprised  one  day  when,  meeting  Mrs. 
Wayne,  the  elder  lady  asked:  "Wasn't  it  pleasant  to 
see  Jim  last  night?" 

"Jim?"  asked  Beth.     "Was  he  in  town?" 

"  He  came  to  the  house  for  just  one  minute.  I  sup- 
posed he  was  hurrying  to  see  you.  Ah,  Beth,  we  moth- 
ers ! "     And  Mrs.  Wayne  sighed. 

"But  he  didn't  come  to  see  me,"  said  Beth.  "It 
must  have  been  business  that  brought  him.  I'll  ask 
George." 

Mather  said  he  had  seen  Jim,  but  only  by  accident, 
when,  returning  from  the  theater,  Wayne  had  passed 
him,  apparently  hurrying  for  the  late  train. 

"  In  town  all  the  evening  and  didn't  come  to  see  me  ? " 

175 


176  The  Barrier 

thought  Beth.  The  idea  troubled  her  so  much  that 
Mather  perceived  it. 

Yet  no  outsider  understood  the  situation  quite  so 
clearly  as  Ellis,  who  had  been  before  Jim  at  the  Harmons' 
that  evening,  and  left  soon  after  he  came.  "I'm  going 
to  the  Blanchards',"  he  said.  "Shall  I  tell  them  to 
expect  you,  Mr.  Wayne?" 

Jim  was  so  unskilled  in  finesse  that  he  said  he  was 
going  to  take  the  early  train.     Ellis  smiled. 

"You  shan't  tease  him!"  declared  Mrs.  Harmon, 
putting  her  hand  on  Jim's  sleeve.  At  which  childish- 
ness the  smile  on  Ellis's  face  became  broad,  and  he 
went  away.  Returning  after  a  couple  of  hours,  he  was 
in  time  to  see  Jim  leave  the  house  hastily,  on  his  way 
to  the  station.  A  woman's  silhouette  showed  on  the 
glass  of  the  vestibule  door,  and  Ellis  tried  a  trick.  He 
ran  quickly  up  the  steps  and  knocked  on  the  door. 
It  was  opened  immediately. 

"Back  again?"  asked  Mrs^  Harmon  eagerly.  "Oh, 
it's  only  you,  Stephen!" 

"Only  me,"  and  he  turned  to  go,  but  she  seized  him. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  she  demanded,  and  then 
not  waiting  for  an  answer  asked:  "You  didn't  tell  the 
Blanchards  he  was  here  ? " 

"Not  I,"  he  replied.  "Lydia,  why  do  you  hold  me 
so?" 

"Why  did  you  startle  me  so?"  she  retorted.  "But 
go  along  with  you!"  So  he  went,  having  by  his  ma- 
noeuver  found  out  enough. 

It  was  not  wholly  interest  in  his  house,  therefore, 
which  took  Ellis  to  Chebasset  before  many  days.  He 
went  to  the  office  of  the  mill,  and  as  he  stood  before  the 
chimney  and  looked  up  at  it  he  mused  that,  metaphor- 
ically speaking,  it  would  not  take  much  prying  at  its 
foundations  to  make  it  fall:     Wayne  was  a  weak  prop 


**Ptrt  Money  in  Thy  Purse**  177 

to  such  a  structure.  He  opened  the  office  door.  Jim, 
from  bending  over  Miss  Jenks  as  she  sat  at  her  desk, 
rose  up  and  stared  at  him.  And  the  little  pale  sten- 
ographer grew  pink. 

"  People  usually  knock,"  Jim  was  beginning.  " — Oh, 
Mr.  Ellis!" 

"Down  for  the  afternoon,"  said  Ellis.  "I  hate  to 
lunch  alone  at  this  hotel.     Won't  you  come  with  me?" 

"Why,  I "  hesitated  Jim. 

"Going  up  on  the  hill  afterward  to  see  my  house," 
added  Ellis.     "I  won't  keep  you  long." 

"You're  very  good,"  decided  Jim.     "Yes,  I'll  come." 

"Of  course  it's  wretched  stuff  they  give  us  here," 
remarked  Ellis  when  they  were  seated  at  the  hotel. 
"Will  you  take  water,  or  risk  the  wine?" 

"The  wine's  not  so  bad,"  said  Jim.  He  was  pleased 
at  his  invitation,  but  even  deference  to  one  so  rich  could 
not  subdue  his  pride  in  special  knowledge.  "I  don't 
know  how  it  happens,  but  they  have  some  very  decent 
Medoc." 

"Then  we'll  try  it,"  and  Ellis  ordered  a  bottle.  He 
began  to  feel  sure  of  his  estimate  of  a  young  man  who 
took  wine  when  alone  in  the  country.  Bad  blood  will 
show;  Ellis  recalled  his  experience  with  Jim's  father. 

For  although  the  promoter  had  once  met  Mather's 
father  and  come  off  second-best,  with  the  elder  Wayne 
he  had  been  easily  master.  Ellis  had  bought  up  most 
of  Wayne's  outstanding  notes  by  the  time  alcohol 
removed  from  society  one  who  so  well  adorned  it;  the 
sale  of  the  house  had  been  merely  a  return  of  I.  O.  U.'s. 
In  just  the  same  way  Ellis  was  providing  against 
Blanchard's  collapse,  and  now  was  watching  Jim  as 
the  wine  worked  on  him. 

"A  hole,  a  hole!"  cried  Jim,  and  the  wave  of  his 
third   glass    included    all    Chebasset.     "If   it   weren't 


178  The  Bartict 

for  a  little   girl,   Mr.  Ellis !"     Jim   gulped  down 

more  wine,  and  Ellis  ordered  a  second  bottle. 

"That  little  girl,"  he  asked,  "whom  I  saw  at  the 
office?" 

"  She  ? "  cried  Jim  loftily.  "  All  very  well  to  have  fun 
with  in  this  place,  but  a  fellow  of  my  standing  looks 
forward  to  something  better  than  that.  Don't  pretend 
ignorance,  Mr.  Ellis.  You're  learning  what's  worth 
having,  even  if  you  didn't  know  it  when  first  you  came 
to  Stirling." 

"I  know  very  little  about  women,"  returned  Ellis 
steadily. 

"Gad,"  cried  Jim,  "you've  chosen  pretty  well, 
then." 

"At  least,"  was  the  reply,  and  Ellis  sighed  as  if 
regretfully,  "  I  can't  keep  three  going  at  once." 

Jim  laughed.  "You  don't  regret  it,  I  know  well 
enough.  You've  got  too  many  other  things  to  think  of. 
I  have  to  do  it,  to  make  life  interesting." 

Such  a  cub  as  this,  it  was  plain,  deserved  no  mercy. 
"You  won't  succeed  in  one  quarter,  at  least,"  Ellis 
answered. 

"  Where,  then  ? "  demanded  Jim. 

Ellis  took  his  first  sip  of  wine.  "At  a  certain  lady's 
where  we  have  met." 

Jim  resorted  to  pantomime.  He  reached  for  the 
bottle  and  filled  his  glass;  this  he  held  up  to  the  light, 
and  squinted  through  it;  then  with  deliberation  he 
drank  off  the  wine,  and  reached  for  the  fresh  bottle. 
After  filling,  he  looked  at  Ellis.  All  this  he  did  with  an 
air  of  very,  very  evident  amusement,  and  at  the  end 
he  chuckled, 

"For  the  reason,"  continued  Ellis,  quite  unmoved, 
"that  you  haven't  the  cash."  He  took  his  second  sip, 
but  Jim  laughed  outright. 


**Ptrt  Money  in  Thy  Purse"  179 

Then  the  youth  became  grave.  "Money,"  he  said 
emphatically,  "is  all  very  well  in  its  place.  But  though 
you've  made  your  way  by  it,  sir,  you  overestimate  it. 

Why,  that  Mrs.  Harmon  would  take "     Suddenly 

Jim  grew  red  in  the  face.     "  You  insult  her,  sir ! " 

"Good,"  remarked  Ellis,  very  coldly.  "The  waiter 
is  out  of  the  room;  recollect  yourself  when  he  returns. 
Recollect  also  that  Mrs.  Harmon  is  a  very  old  friend  of 
mine," 

"But,"  stammered  Jim,  somewhat  abashed,  "when 
you  say  that  she  would  sell  herself " 

"You  were  drinking  before  you  came  here,"  said 
Ellis,  "or  you  wouldn't  take  such  ideas  so  easily."  He 
removed  the  bottle  from  Jim's  elbow,  then,  as  if  on 
second  thought,  he  put  it  back  again.  "This  is  a  lonely 
place,  Mr,  Wayne;  I  don't  wonder  that  you  take  a 
cock-tail  occasionally  in  the  morning.  But  just 
remember  that  it  may  prevent  you  from  seeing  a  man's 
meaning." 

"I  thought "  began  Jim,  but  Ellis  cut  him  short, 

"I  know;  but  never  mind.  I  meant,  my  dear  man,  a 
libel  on  the  sex,  perhaps,  but  not  on  the  individual. 
They're  fond  of  finery,  that's  all.  And  you  haven't 
the  money  to  give  it."     He  looked  at  Jim  with  a  smile. 

"You  can't  give  it  to  her!"  cried  Jim.  But  the  ex- 
clamation was  almost  a  question. 

"To  some  women  you  can't — perhaps.  But  I've 
never  met  the  kind.  And  do  you  suppose  the  Judge 
knows  what  comes  into  the  house?" 

"Gad!"  murmured  Jim, 

"A  weakness  of  the  sex,"  resumed  Ellis.  "Just 
remember  that.  Women  are  softer  than  we;  we've 
got  to  humour  them.  There's  no  harm  in  it;  a  pearl 
pin  now  and  then — something  good,  oh,  you  need  some- 
thing pretty  good,  or  nothing  at  all." 


i8o  The  Barrier 

"Then  I'll  go  on  the  nothing-at-all  system,"  said  Jim 
with  gloom. 

"  Rot ! "  answered  Ellis.     "  Do  you  save  so  carefully  ? " 

"Save!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "Do  you  suppose  I  can 
save?" 

"I  forgot,"  and  Ellis  spoke  apologetically.  "Of 
course,  with  your  salary.  But  there'll  be  a  good  time 
some  day,  Mr.  Wayne." 

"When  I'm  old,"  grumbled  Jim. 

"Gad!"  cried  Ellis,  "with  your  ability  and  your 
youth,  I'd  be  some  thousands  richer  every  year!" 

"I  know,"  answered  the  lamb,  trying  to  look  as  wolfish 
as  he  should.  "But  a  fellow  can  do  nothing  nowadays 
without  capital." 

"  But  you  have  something  ? " 

"Some  few  thousands,"  replied  Jim  with  deep  scorn 
of  fate.     "And  in  my  mother's  name." 

"Your  mother  is  conservative?"  asked  Ellis. 

"Scared,  "  answered  Jim. 

"And  all  you  learned  on  the  market,"  said  Ellis  with 
sympathy,  "going  here  to  waste !  Too  bad  !  Get  some 
one  to  back  you." 

Jim  looked  at  him  sidewise.     "Will  you  do  it?" 

But  Ellis  smiled.  "Why  should  I?  No;  stand  on 
your  own  feet.  Get  your  mother's  power  of  attorney, 
and  surprise  her  some  day  by  doubling  her  income. 
But  as  for  that,  doesn't  money  pass  through  your  hands 
down  here  every  week." 

"  Passes  through  quickly,"  answered  Wayne.  "  Comes 
down  Saturday  morning,  and  I  pay  the  men  at  noon." 

"  Pay  every  week  ? "  Ellis  inquired.  "  Every  fortnight 
is  what  I  believe  in.  But  of  course — and  yet  three  days, 
with  clever  placing,  would  be  enough  to  make  you 
double  that  money.  Three  weeks,  and  you  could — 
do  anything!" 


**Pwt  Money  in  Thy  Futsc**  i8i 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Jim,  starting. 

"I'll  be  off,"  said  Ellis,  pushing  back  his  chair. 
"This  lunch  was  better  than  I  expected.  "We  must 
meet  here  again,  some  day." 

"Grood!"  answered  Jim.  He  finished  his  last  glass, 
but  as  he  rose  he  was  as  steady  as  if  he  carried  nothing. 
"For  all  that,"  muttered  Ellis  to  himself,  "your  brain 
is  softer  than  half  an  hour  ago."  They  separated  at  the 
door  of  the  hotel,  and  went  their  respective  ways. 

When  Ellis,  after  inspecting  his  house,  stood  on  the 
terrace  and  looked  down  upon  Cheb asset,  he  still  had 
Jim  on  his  mind.  Would  the  ideas  work?  Did  he 
still  taste  that  wine  in  his  mouth,  or  his  own  words? 
Small !  and  Ellis  spat.  Small,  but  well  done,  as  the 
event  was  to  prove.  And  yet  ElHs  had  neither  heard 
nor  read  of  Mephisto  and  the  student,  of  lago  and 
Roderigo. 


CHAPTER  XX 
The  Power  op  Suggestion 

It  is  wearing  when  one's  wishes  travel  faster  than 
events,  and  have  to  wait  for  time  to  catch  up.  Mrs. 
Harmon  felt  it  so.  "The  days  go  too  slow,"  she  de- 
clared to  Ellis,  a  week  after  his  visit  to  Chebasset. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered.  "I  think  they  go  about 
right." 

"You're  like  a  cat,"  she  said  impatiently.  "I 
watched  one  hunting  a  bird  once,  and  it  took  forever  to 
make  its  spring." 

"But  it  caught  the  bird.  Then  wasn't  the  time  well 
spent,  Lydia?" 

"I'm  not  so  cold-blooded,"  she  replied.  "I  can't  be 
deliberate.     I  must  have  something  going  on." 

"Therefore  you  listen  for  the  door-bell,"  remarked 
he.     "Lydia,  he  can't  come  up  to-night." 

"Stephen!"  she  cried  as  if  indignantly — ^yet  she 
began  to  smile. 

"  Mather  keeps  fair  track  of  him,"  said  Ellis. 

"I  hate  Mr.  Mather !"  declared  the  lady  with  energy. 

"What's  the  use?"  inquired  the  gentleman  calmly. 

"Upon  my  word,  Stephen,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Harmon, 
"if  any  one  in  this  town  ought  to  hate  him,  it's  you. 
He's  the  one  man  who  stands  between  you  and — and 
everything  you  want." 

Ellis  smiled.     "People  say  so?" 

"It's  true!"  she  insisted.  "What  are  your  friends 
in  politics  most  afraid  of?    That  he  will  go  in  against 

182 


The  Powet  of  Sugfg^estion  183 

them!  Who  can  make  the  best  stand  against  your 
mayor  ?  Mather,  of  course !  With  him  as  mayor — 
■what  then,  Stephen?" 

"All  talk,"  he  answered,  still  smiling. 

"Very  well,"  she  retorted.  "But  if  ever  it  comes  to 
Mather  at  city  hall,  Doddridge  as  district  attorney,  and 
my  husband  on  the  bench,  some  people  will  leave  town 
hurriedly." 

"You  mean  me?"  he  asked  indifferently. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  answered.  "But  don't  laugh, 
Stephen;  there's  really  something  in  all  this.  And  in 
other  matters,  too.  The  Judge  has  sold  his  street- 
railroad  stock." 

Ellis  roused  at  once.     "He  has?    To  whom?" 

"Mr.  Pease." 

"Well,"  and  the  promoter  relaxed  again.  "I  am 
glad  that  the  Judge  is  out  of  it,  even  if  Pease  is  deeper 
in." 

"Abiel  kept  back  five  shares,"  said  the  Judge's 
worthy  wife,  "and  when  next  it  comes  to  a  stock- 
holders' meeting,  he'll  be  there.  I  can't  do  anything 
with  him ;  you  know  that  well  enough.  All  I  can  do  is 
to  tell  you  what  he  tells  me.  Stephen,"  and  her  voice 
became  persuasive,  "why  not  take  notice  of  complaints  ?  " 

"You  mean  transfers ? "  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  and  better  service:  more  cars  at  the  rush 
hours,  and  more  attention  to  the  suburbs." 

"  Higher  wages  to  the  men,  too,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"You  don't  want  a  strike?"  she  cried. 

"Now  stop  worrying!"  he  commanded.  "You  hear 
the  Judge  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  never  see  my  side. 
Who  does  he  say  are  against  me — Pease,  Fenno,  Bran- 
derson — all  their  kind  ? " 

She  nodded.     "Yes,  every  one  of  them." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  I  have  a  majority  of  stock — either 


1 84  The  Bafficf 

mine  or  belonging  to  men  who  belong  to  me — all  the 
rich  swells  in  the  State  can't  touch  me.  Lydia,  Mather 
made  this  street  railroad  for  me;  he  didn't  know  he  was 
doing  it,  but  he  did  it,  and  when  I  wanted  it  I  took  it. 
It's  the  best  thing  I've  struck  yet,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
let  it  go.  Nor  the  profits ,  either.  Transfers  and  extra 
cars?  I  tell  you  the  public's  got  to  ride,  and  ride  in 
what  I  allow  'em." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied.  "You  usually  know  what 
you're  about.     But  the  papers " 

"Rot,  rot,  rot ! "  he  interrupted.  "You  hear  so  much 
of  this  Mather  talk  that  you  believe  it.  Do  you  read  the 
Newsman .?" 

"Abiel  won't  have  it  in  the  house." 

"Buy  a  copy  once  in  a  while,  when  you  feel  blue. 
You'll  see  that  Mather's  a  man  of  straw." 

"Does  Judith  Blanchard  think  him  so?" 

He  turned  upon  her.     "Doesn't  she ? " 

"I  don't  know  what  she  thinks,"  she  confessed. 

"Then,"  he  advised,  softening  his  frown,  "wait  and 
watch.     I  tell  you  it's  going  all  right." 

She  wondered  that  he  felt  so  sure,  but  she  subsided; 
then  other  thoughts  came  into  her  mind.  "Stephen," 
she  asked,  "are  you  doing  much  now — on  the  market, 
I  mean?" 

"Always  doing  a  lot,"  he  replied. 

"What's  safest  and  surest?" 

"Government  bonds,"  he  answered  with  a  smile. 

"No,  no,"  she  said.  "I  mean  surest  to  go  up  and  do 
something  quickly." 

"Lydia,"  he  responded,  "if  young  Wayne  wants  to 
know  anything  from  me,  let  him  ask  me  himself." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  pouting,  "how  quick  you  are! 
Well,  I  did  ask  for  Jim."  There  was  just  a  little  hesita- 
tion as  she  spoke  the  name.     "But  he  gets  so  little 


The  Power  of  Suggestion  185 

chance  to  see  you.  Come,  tell  me  something;  give  me 
a  tip,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

"I  calculated  once,"  he  replied,  "that  if  I  told  every- 
one who  asked,  there  would  be  just  twice  my  capital  in 
the  market,  after  the  things  I  want.  No,  Lydia,  let 
every  man  stand  on  his  own  feet;  I  do  my  hunting 
alone." 

"Stephen!"  she  coaxed.  "Stephen!  Oh,  you  ob- 
stinate thing  !     At  least  tell  me  what  you're  buying." 

"If  you  want  to  help  young  Wayne,  don't  ask  that. 
I  look  long  ways  ahead;  sometimes  I  buy  to  hold,  but  he 
can't.  I'm  not  afraid  of  a  drop;  he  is.  Let  him  work 
out  his  get-rich-quick  scheme  by  himself,  and  he'll  be 
better  oflE  than  if  I  helped  him." 

"At  least  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Poulton?"  But 
he  was  obdurate.  "Stephen,  I'll  never  ask  you  a  favour 
again!" 

"With  that  pin  at  your  throat  you  don't  need  to," 
he  replied.     "Lydia,  I  never  gave  you  that." 

"I  have  a  husband,"  and  she  affected  indignation. 
"How  can  you  insinuate — oh,  Stephen,  you  see  too 
much.     Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"I  think,"  he  responded  with  deliberation,  "that  I've 
not  seen  Miss  Beth  Blanchard  wearing  any  new  jewelry 
lately.     Aren't  you  unkind  ? " 

"No!"  she  pouted  again.  "I  am  his  mother  con- 
fessor." Which  appeared  so  humorous  to  them  both 
that  they  laughed ;  and  then,  feeling  that  they  had  been 
skating  on  rather  thin  ice,  they  left  the  subject.  Only — 
Mrs.  Harmon  wished  she  knew  why  Ellis  was  so  sure  of 
Judith. 

Had  she  seen  what  Mather  saw  she  might  have  guessed 
what  Mather  guessed.  Ellis  lunching  with  the  Colonel 
down  town,  at  an  out-of-the-way  place,  to  be  sure,  but 
lunching  with  him  openly — that  meant  a  good  deal. 


1 86  The  Bamer 

It  was  a  French  restaurant  to  which  Mather  went  at 
times  for  the  sake  of  its  specialties,  but  when  from  the 
door,  one  day,  he  saw  the  Colonel  and  Ellis  at  one  of  the 
tables,  he  went  away  again ;  yet  had  been  seen. 

"He  saw  us,"  said  Ellis.  "And  if  he  saw  us,  others 
will.  What  was  the  use  of  insisting  on  such  a  meeting- 
place.  Colonel?" 

The  Colonel  was  annoyed,  confoundedly  so. 

"All  very  well,"  returned  Ellis.  "But  our  business 
is  not  secret,  any  more  than  the  transactions  which 
go  on  in  the  open  street.  Come,  Colonel  Blanchard, 
don't  you  think  it's  time  for  a  different  line  of 
procedure?" 

The  Colonel  apprehensively  asked  his  meaning. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  answered  Ellis.  "Don't  think  me 
rude,  sir,  if  I  speak  freely.  All  I've  been  thinking  is  that 
if  I'm  a  business  acquaintance  merely,  keep  me  as  such. 
But  if  I'm  a  little  more,  if  I'm  to  come  to  your  house 
and  your  table,  let  us  meet  a  little  more  openly — at  the 
Exchange  Club,  let  us  say.  And  if  I  dine  at  your  house 
again,  let's  have,"  the  Colonel's  head  was  bowed,  and 
Ellis  therefore  spoke  boldly,  "other  people  there." 

The  Colonel  marked  with  his  knife  upon  the  cloth. 
Three  times  five  thousand,  without  security,  meant  that 
Ellis  had  passed  beyond  the  stage  of  business  acquaint- 
anceship. Well,  never  mind;  Judith  encouraged  the 
man,  so  where  was  the  harm  ?  The  whole  thing  was  the 
most  natural  in  the  world. 

"Why,  Mr.  Ellis,"  he  said,  looking  up,  "I  like  this 
little  place  to  eat  in ;  it  reminds  me  of  Paris,  you  know. 
I  hadn't  thought  we  would  seem  to  be  dodging  people." 
("Lies  better  than  Wayne,"  thought  Ellis.)  "The 
Exchange  Club,  of  course,  if  you  wish  it;  it's  more 
convenient,  anyway." 

But  Ellis's  reminder,  before  they  parted,  the  Colonel 


The  Power  of  Swggestfon  187 

took  hard.  "And  perhaps  we  can  have  a  little  dinner- 
party soon,  Colonel?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Colonel.  "Yes,  yes."  He  was 
as  near  snappish  as  he  dared  to  be,  vindicating  his 
military  character.  Only  the  recollection  of  his 
daughter's  wishes  kept  him  from  being  rude,  downright 
rude.  Thus  the  Colonel  to  himself,  as  he  went  home- 
ward alone.  Yet,  instead  of  informing  Judith  that  she 
was  privileged  to  give  a  dinner-party,  he  was  much  too 
absorbed  to  vouchsafe  her  any  account  of  where  he  had 
been.  "Don't  bother  me,"  was  his  gentle  reply  when 
she  asked  if  he  had  seen  any  one  down  town. 

"Father  !"  cried  Judith,  really  hurt. 

"But  I  heard  this,"  said  her  father,  stopping  at  the 
door  of  his  study,  and  giving  his  piece  of  news  with  an 
unction  for  which  only  the  passions  of  the  natural  man 
can  account.  "They  say  a  street-railway  strike  is  coming 
surely,  unless  Mr.  Ellis  gives  in." 

Judith  stood  with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  re- 
garding her  parent  cheerfully.  "Oh,  well!"  she  said 
lightly. 

"You  don't  believe  it?"  demanded  the  Colonel, 

"Strikes  never  come  as  often  as  they  are  threatened," 
she  replied. 

"But  this  time  the  stockholders  may  have  something 
to  say." 

"They  need  more  votes  for  that,"  she  answered. 

The  Colonel  looked  her  over.  "Ellis  has  been  telling 
her  what  to  think,"  he  concluded.  For  a  moment  he 
entertained  the  impulse  to  propose  the  dinner-party,  but 
Ellis's  virtual  ordering  of  him  rankled.  He  went  into 
his  study. 

Mather,  on  his  part,  took  his  lunch  at  another  restau- 
rant and  then  went  down  to  Chebasset.  He  felt  some- 
what depressed;  life  was  not  pleasant,  not  with  the 


1 88  The  Bamcf 

sight  of  Ellis  and  the  Colonel  before  his  mental  vision, 
nor  with  the  task  he  had  to  do.  For  the  returns  from 
the  mill  were  entirely  inadequate,  and  Jim  must  be 
spoken  to.  Lecturing  a  sulky  boy  promised  to  be 
unpleasant;  besides,  Jim  would  report  it  to  Beth. 
Mather  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  put  the  matter 
off,  if  only  for  a  day. 

But  Jim  was  not  at  the  mill.  "  He  has  gone  to  Stirling, 
Miss  Jenks?" 

"Yes,  sir,  to  the  city.  He  had  a  telephone  message 
from "     Miss  Jenks  hesitated  and  stammered. 

"Miss  Blanchard?  Oh,  of  course."  And  Mather, 
amused  at  the  modesty  of  the  little  stenographer,  sat 
down  at  Jim's  desk,  which  had  once  been  his  own. 
"The  daily  reports,  if  you  please,  Miss  Jenks."  While 
she  went  for  them,  he  stared  idly  at  the  decorations  by 
whose  means  Jim  had  sought  to  domesticate  himself  at 
the  mill:  dance  cards,  an  invitation,  and  photographs 
of  Beth,  Jim's  mother,  and  Mrs.  Harmon.  Mather 
frowned  at  the  presence  of  the  last,  in  such  company. 

Armed  with  the  daily  reports,  Mather  went  into  the 
mill,  and  certain  of  the  men,  at  certain  of  the  machines, 
heard  words  which  were  far  from  pleasing.  The  words 
were  not  many, and  were  delivered  quietly, but  backed  by 
telling  figures  from  the  returns  they  were  unanswerable. 
It  was  a  slight  relief  that  so  many  men  were  visited  in 
Mather's  round,  for  company  made  the  misery  a  bit 
lighter,  but  the  foreman  trembled  for  his  turn.  He  took 
it  in  the  office,  alone  with  Mather  and  Miss  Jenks.  That 
during  the  summer  and  fall  so  many  pounds  daily  had 
been  turned  out,  and  in  the  winter  so  many  less,  was 
laid  before  him.  The  foreman  could  suggest  only  one 
excuse. 

"Mr.  Wayne,  sir.  The  men — some  of  them  don't  like 
him,  and  some  laugh  at  him." 


The  Power  of  Suggestion  189 

"You  attend  to  your  men,  Waller,  and  Mr.  Wayne  and 
I  will  do  our  part.  Understand,  I  put  the  mill  in  your 
hands  now ;  Mr.  Wayne  will  attend  strictly  to  the  office. 
If  you  bring  the  men  up  to  the  old  mark,  ten  dollars 

more  for  you  in  the  month.     If  you  don't "     And 

the  manager  waved  his  hand.  Waller,  between  fear  and 
hope,  withdrew  to  the  safe  side  of  the  door,  and  mopped 
his  brow. 

Mather  also  wiped  his  forehead ;  he  was  glad,  after  all, 
that  Jim  had  not  been  there;  he  would  try  running  the 
mill  on  this  system,  and  Beth  for  a  while,  perhaps  for 
good,  could  be  spared  unhappiness. 

But  when,  after  writing  Jim  a  letter  detailing  the 
proposed  change,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  he  found  a  work- 
man standing  by  his  side.  The  man,  with  some  appear- 
ance of  unhappiness,  touched  his  forelock.  "Beg 
pardon,  sir,  but  the  missis  is  sick." 

"Your  wife?  I'm  sorry.  I  suppose  you've  come  for 
an  advance  of  money." 

"No,  sir!"  and  the  man  showed  pride.  "I  can  get 
along,  Mr.  Mather,  on  my  regular  pay." 

"Then  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"It's  this  new  regulation,  sir — fortnightly  pay." 

"Fortnightly  pay  !"  echoed  Mather. 

"Yes,  sir.  It'll  be  all  right  usually,  Mr.  Mather,  and 
none  of  the  men  cares  much." 

There  was  a  tightness  in  the  manager's  brain;  he  put 
up  his  hand  and  stroked  his  lip.  "Let  me  see,  when 
did  the  new  system  begin  ? " 

"Last  week,  sir.  And  as  I  say,  I  wouldn't  care,  sir, 
but  just  now  it  comes  so  hard  that  I'm  askin' — just  as  a 
favour,  Mr.  Mather — to  be  paid  weekly  till  the  missis 
is  well." 

"So  !"  said  Mather,  recovering  himself. 

"  I  hope  it's  not  too  much  to  ask,  sir  ? " 


iQo  The  Barrier 

"No,  no,"  and  the  manager  turned  to  the  safe. 

What  was  he  to  find — an  empty  cash  drawer?  His 
hand  trembled  as  he  swung  open  the  heavy  door;  he 
thought  of  Httle  Beth.  If  Jim  had  been  so  weak,  so 
ungrateful — it  was  all  right !  There  lay  the  rolls  of 
bills ! 

But  not  the  same;  the  envelopes  had  been  opened,  the 
money  mussed  and  then  crammed  hastily  back  into  the 
drawer  again.  Moreover,  these  were  not  the  fresh, 
crisp  bills  which  Pease  took  pride  in  sending  weekly  to 
the  mill,  Mather  took  the  whole  drawer  to  the  desk  and 
paid  the  workman.  "Make  a  note.  Miss  Jenks,  that 
Swinton  is  to  be  paid  weekly  so  long  as  his  wife  is  ill." 
The  man,  thankful,  departed;  but  Mather  sat  over  the 
cash  drawer,  sorting  the  money  and  counting  it.  There 
were  many  bills  of  the  high  denominations  which  never 
came  to  the  mill,  since  they  would  be  of  little  use  in 
paying  the  men.  But  it  was  all  there,  every  cent.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  it  ?  And  now  it  was  Miss  Jenks 
who  stood  at  Mather's  side,  waiting  to  speak.  He  thrust 
the  money  again  into  the  drawer. 

"Miss  Jenks?"  As  she  did  not  speak  at  once  he 
looked  at  her  face,  and  asked  hastily:  "Is  anything 
wrong?" 

"I've — I've  got  to  leave  here,  Mr.  Mather." 

He  rose  and  put  the  cash  drawer  in  its  place ;  then  he 
went  back  to  her.     "This  is  very  astonishing.     Why?" 

"I  must,"  was  all  she  would  say. 

"Is  it  wages?  Hours?  Are  you  overworked?"  To 
each  question  she  shook  her  head.  "I  consider  you 
very  valuable  to  us.  I  have  thought  of  asking  you  to 
come  to  the  city  office." 

She  looked  up  at  him  eagerly.     "Oh,  let  me  come!" 

"Then  there  is  some  friction  here  ? " 

She  looked  down,  blushing.     * '  No  friction. " 


The  Power  of  Suggestion  191 

"One  question  only,  Miss  Jenks.     Is  it  Mr.  Wayne?" 

She  nodded;  Mather  took  his  seat.     Then  she  took  a 

step  nearer  to  him,  looking  to  see  if  he  were  angry. 

"Don't  be  put  out  with  him.     He — I — ^it's  nothing, 

Mr.  Mather." 

"So  I  should  suppose,"  he  answered  grimly. 
"Mr.  Mather,"  she  said  suddenly,  "when  I  worked  for 
you  here  I  got  to  think  of  you  almost  as  an  older  brother. 
Don't  be  offended."  She  made  a  little  gesture  of  one 
thin  hand.  "I  have  no  mother.  May  I  ask  you  if  I 
am  doing  right?" 

He  was  touched,  and  rose  again.     "Certainly." 
"Mr.  Wayne,"  she  began  again  slowly,  "has  been 
very — nice  to  me.     I  didn't  think  about  it;  I  got  to 
like  it  very  much.     Yesterday  he — kissed  me.     Isn't 
he  engaged  to  Miss  Blanchard,  sir?" 
"He  is." 

"I  thought  so;  and  yet,  Mr.  Mather,  I  cotddn't  be 
offended.  This  afternoon,  when  he  went  away,  he  came 
to  kiss  me  again,  and  I  couldn't  try  to  stop  him.  Was 
it  shameful,  sir?" 

He  ground  his  teeth.     "Of  him  ! " 
"And  he  left  me  this,"     She  opened  the  hand  which 
she  had  held  tight  closed,  and  showed  a  jewelled  pin. 

Mather  took  it ;  it  was  costly,  very  handsome.  "Well, 
Miss  Jenks?" 

"I  don't  think  I'm  that  kind  of  a  girl,  sir.  And  yet 
I'm  frightened  at  myself — for  not  being  able  to  resist 
him,  I  mean.  And  so  I've  got  to  go,  sir."  Up  to  this 
time  she  had  spoken  quietly,  with  little  sign  of  emotion, 
but  now  she  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  tears 
welled  out  on  her  cheeks.  "  I  cannot  stay  another  day  ! " 
He  turned  away  from  her,  and  for  a  space  strode  up 
and  down  the  office,  cursing  silently.  Then  he  sat  and 
tried  to  think.     Jim,  Jim ! 


192  The  Barrief 

"You're  not  offended,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"Offended?  You  poor  Httle  girl,  it  tears  at  my 
heart  to  see  your  face  and  know  what  you  feel.  You're 
doing  just  right;  yes,  just  right.  You  shall  come  to  me 
in  the  city,  to-morrow  if  you  wish.  I  know  an  old  and 
homely  woman  who  will  be  glad  of  this  place." 

She  shrank  at  the  energy  of  his  sneer.  "You  won't 
be  angry  with  him,  sir?" 

"Not  angry?"  he  cried,  astonished.  Then  he  said 
quietly,  "I  shall  do  nothing  at  once.  But  there  are 
other  considerations  as  well." 

"Others?"  she  asked  fearfully.  "He  isn't — going 
wrong,  Mr.  Mather?" 

"What  makes  you  think  that ? "  he  demanded. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  "I'd  better  tell  you  something, 
if  it  will  help  you  help  him.  There's  one  man — oh,  Mr. 
Mather,  I've  been  so  glad  of  the  way  the  papers  speak 
of  you — ^if  you  would  only  stand  for  mayor  of  Stirling, 
sir!  I  dislike  that  Mr.  Ellis.  And  it's  he  who's  been 
here  twice  to  see  Mr.  Wayne,  and  telephoned  him  this 
afternoon  to  come  to  town." 

"  Of  course  you  know  there's  no  reason  he  shouldn't  ? " 

"Only  I  don't  like  him,  sir.  And  Mr.  Wayne  made 
something  of  a  secret  of  it,  though  he's  been  talking  with 
me  quite  freely,  lately.  But  I  couldn't  help  knowing, 
and  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong."  She  took  a  step 
toward  her  desk.  "If  you've  got  nothing  for  me  to  do, 
sir,  I'll  go  now.     To-morrow  at  your  office,  Mr.  Mather  ? " 

"To-morrow."  He  sank  so  deep  in  thought  that  he 
scarcely  heeded  her  good-bye,  and  leaving  the  pin  on 
Jim's  desk  she  slipped  out  of  the  office  with  her  hopes, 
fears,  thanks,  trembling  on  her  lips  but  yet  unexpressed. 
She  was  glad  to  leave  the  little  office  where  she  had  been 
so  frightened  of  herself.  And  since  Mather  had  been 
always  kind,  she  felt  sure  he  would  be  kind  to  Wayne. 


The  Power  of  Suggestion  193 

Kind!  Mather's  fingers  itched  for  Jim's  collar. 
Perhaps  he  had  intended  no  harm  with  the  girl,  but 
such  things  went  easily  from  bad  to  worse.  And  what 
had  he  been  doing  with  the  money  ?  But  the  only  real 
reason  for  complaint  lay  in  the  new  system  of  fortnightly 
pay.  Mather  concluded  that  he  would  wait  till  Satur- 
day; then  he  would  come  down,  see  the  men  paid,  and 
have  it  out  with  Jim. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  but  One 

It  was  midwinter,  in  the  full  swing  of  social  events, 
yet  Judith  had  been  withdrawing  herself  more  and  more 
from  what  was  going  on.  She  disliked  people's  talk; 
besides,  her  interest  in  mere  frivolity  was  growing  less, 
fixing  itself  with  proportionate  keenness  upon  Ellis's 
affairs. 

For  Ellis  came  continually  oftener,  and  at  last  she 
had  begun  to  look  forward  to  his  visits.  More  than  one 
of  his  interests  had  been  growing  complicated;  he  told 
her  of  them  freely.  Most  of  all,  the  street-railway 
matter  promised  trouble  from  the  threatened  strike. 

On  the  evening  of  Ellis's  and  the  Colonel's  third 
exchange  of  note  and  check  Ellis  came  to  see  Judith ;  she 
was  very  ready  for  a  talk.  It  pleased  and  flattered  him 
to  see  the  flash  of  the  eye  lighting  up  her  beauty,  the 
eagerness  with  which  she  led  him  to  the  familiar  subject. 
"Stunning!"  he  thought  to  himself.  "Is  she  dressed 
up  so  for  me?"  The  handsome  gown,  the  few  but 
valuable  jewels — and  the  face!  "Soon!"  he  said  to 
himself  confidently.     Meanwhile,  step  by  step  ! 

He  had  planned  the  next  one  carefully,  spending  on  it 
more  thought  than  on  many  of  his  great  strokes  in 
politics  or  business.  She  was  more  on  his  mind  than 
ever,  partly  because,  as  a  woman,  she  was  a  strange 
problem  to  him;  partly,  however,  because  his  interest 
in  her  was  growing  steadily  deeper,  and  to  win  her  was 
becoming  constantly  of  greater  moment.     The  unnarned 

194 


Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  but  One  195 

emotion  still  increasing  in  him,  he  explained  it  by  the 
fact  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  contented  as  he 
once  was,  in  the  days  when  he  drove  without  rest  at  his 
politics  or  business,  having  nothing  to  look  forward  to 
at  the  day's  end,  and  with  only  the  dull  set  of  common- 
minded  men  as  his  companions.  How  far  finer  was 
Judith  than  they !  Though  he  still  feared  her  idealism, 
it  gave  him  a  sense  of  the  worth  of  beauty  and  refine- 
ment. And  that  other  faculty  in  her,  to  appreciate  his 
material  achievements,  was  not  only  a  stimulus  which 
he  felt  had  become  indispensable,  but  was  also  the 
susceptibility  by  which  he  hoped  to  win  her.  Aiming 
all  his  powers  at  that  weakness,  and  looking  back  on 
the  occasion  when  the  mere  sight  of  Mather  was  enough 
to  capture  Judith's  attention  from  him,  Ellis  planned  so 
to  raise  her  interest  in  himself  that  it  would  permit  of 
no  interruption. 

He  told  her  of  the  threatened  strike.  The  demands 
of  the  men  were  not  serious;  it  would  not  be  a  great 
drain  on  his  pocket  to  grant  the  increase  in  wages. 
The  free  transfers  would  be  troublesome;  the  extra 
service  in  rush  hours  a  bother:  nevertheless,  all  this 
could  be  undertaken,  and  would  be,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  principle  involved.  And  in  order  that  he  might 
know  how  to  decide,  he  needed  her  help. 

"My  help  ! "  cried  Judith. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  interest,  "you 
don't  realise  that  I  consult  you,  Miss  Blanchard. 
But  all  these  things  I  speak  to  you  about  have  more  or 
less  dependence  on  the  state  of  public  feelings.  Do  you 
know  that  I  have  come  to  consider  you  as  a  kind  of 
barometer  of  that  ?" 

"Me?"  she  cried  again,  much  pleased. 

"You  read  the  papers,  and  digest  the  news.  You  see 
people    and    talk   things    over.     You're   rather    above 


196  The  Bas-fier 

ordinary  business,  naturally,  and  so,  looking  down  on 
its  workings,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  you  see  into  it.  Do 
you  understand  ?  You  see  clearer  than  the  men  them- 
selves who  are  in  the  midst  of  it." 

"I  never  supposed  that,"  she  said.  "I  never  dreamed 
of  it ! " 

"You  have  a  habit  of  looking  forward,  too,"  he  went 
on.  "That's  what  I  like,  what  I  need.  I  get  confused 
myself,  sometimes;  I  can't  see  the  battle  for  the  smoke. 
My  own  strategy  is  often  doubtful  to  me.  Then  I  turn 
to  you." 

"You  overrate  me,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Not  I,"  he  answered.  "You  aren't  offended  if  I 
speak  so  frankly?  For  I  wouldn't  make  use  of  you 
unless  you  are  quite  willing." 

"Certainly  I  am  willing  to  help,"  she  said. 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied.  "Now  it's  this  way,  Miss 
Blanchard.  I'm  not  working  only  for  the  present,  as  I 
think  you  know.  I'm  looking  rather  farther  forward 
than  most  people.  Besides,  I'm  mixed  up  in  many 
matters.  Finally  I'm  rather  alone.  Politics,  the  rail- 
way, the  cotton  corporation,  half  a  dozen  things  I  carry 
almost  by  myself;  I'm  the  chief,  anyway;  I  haven't  even 
a  partner  to  consult.  I  have  to  watch  my  own  lieu- 
tenants to  see  they  do  things  right,  good  workers  as 
they  are.  It's  brains  I  need  to  help  me — rehab le  scouts 
and  clear-headed  advisers." 

"I  can't  be  an  adviser,"  said  Judith,  "but  I  could 
scout,  perhaps.     Will  you  let  me  ? " 

"I  want  you  for  both,"  he  returned.  "You  can 
advise,  and  you  do.  I  want  some  scouting  just  now, 
and  advice  after  it,  by  somebody  absolutely  impartial. 
Somebody  who  wouldn't  hesitate  to  set  me  right  if  she 
saw  that  I  was  wrong." 

"TeU  me !"  begged  Judith. 


Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  httt  One  197 

"I  have  my  preconceived  notions,"  he  said.  "Let 
me  explain  them  to  you,  so  that  you  can  understand 
the  hne  I'm  working  on.  This  isn't  capital  versus 
labour,  Miss  Blanchard;  it  isn't  even  the  corpora- 
tion against  the  public — not  as  I  look  at  it.  No, 
it's  the  present  against  the  future.  I  could  do 
the  things  the  public  wants;  certainly  I  could.  But 
that's  not  the  point.  The  question  is,  do  they  know 
what's  best  for  themselves?  That's  for  you  and  me 
to  decide ! " 

He  had  been  leaning  forward,  speaking  with  emphasis; 
now  as  he  finished  he  sat  again  upright,  but  the  flash  of 
his  eye  kindled  an  answering  fire  in  hers.  "For  you 
and  me  !"  she  repeated. 

He  leaned  forward  again,  holding  her  glance  with  his. 
"The  people,"  he  said,  "think  they  know  what  they 
want.  But  the  best  of  them  are  very  shortsighted,  even 
the  educated  men.  Your  friends  are  beginning  to  join 
the  cry  against  me;  I  won't  deny  it  sounds  mighty 
reasonable:  Better  hours  and  pay  for  the  men;  better 
service  for  the  people.  Well,  do  you  or  I  suppose  that's 
all  there  is  in  it?" 

She  drew  in  her  breath;  how  much  more  he  saw,  and 
knew,  than  others ! 

"Let's  go  back,"  he  said.  " I'm  in  politics,  indirectly. 
I'm  blamed  for  it.  Fellows,  good  fellows  I've  known 
for  years,  are  looked  down  on  and  called  Ellis's  men, 
just  because  they  see  things  as  I  do.  All  very  well  for 
men  who  sit  back  with  white  gloves  on  their  hands  and 
say  that  politics  aren't  clean.  Come  now,  I'll  acknowl- 
edge it  to  you.  Miss  Blanchard,  politics  are  not  clean. 
I've  seen  things  done  that — well,  never  mind.  I 
believe  corruption  has  been  in  the  world  since  the  first 
of  time ;  I  think  it's  in  a  certain  grade  of  human  nature. 
You  can't  get  it  out.     But  there's  less  of  it  than  is 


198  The  Bamef 

supposed ;  and  on  my  word,  Miss  Blanchard,  none  of  it 
can  be  laid  to  me  ! " 

Again  she  drew  a  breath,  and  still  meeting  his  eye, 
she  nodded  her  agreement. 

"If  one  of  those  fellows,  in  the  city  government 
through  no  act  of  mine,  votes  for  my  measures,  shall  I 
pay  him  not  to  ?  There  are  few  enough  of  them.  Well, 
we  understand  that,  but  people  might  ask  me  why  I'm 
in  politics  at  all.  Miss  Blanchard,  I  point  to  what  I've 
done.  And  to  what  I'm  doing  !  Sometimes  it  hurts  me 
that  people  misunderstand  me;  mostly  I  laugh.  But  I 
want  you  to  know,  as  I  guess  you  do  anyway.  I'm 
building  this  city  for  the  future." 

Again  he  drew  away  and  made  the  impressive  pause, 
but  in  a  moment  he  was  once  more  at  the  charge. 
"The  water- works  affair,  look  at  that!  People  cry 
'  Steal !  Boodle  ! '  But  do  they  know  what  I'm  doing  ? 
Do  they  know  what  I'm  saving  them  from?  Miss 
Blanchard,  you  know,  if  they  don't,  that  this  city  is  at 
a  turning  point  in  its  development.  We're  just  growing 
from  a  small  city  into  a  big  one.  Then  it's  the  part  of 
the  men  with  brains  to  prepare  for  the  change.  Look 
at  Boston,  look  at  New  York:  see  how  they're  struggling 
with  their  water  problems,  their  lighting  problems, 
above  all  with  their  transportation  problems — and 
why?"  He  snapped  out  the  question  abruptly,  then 
answered  it  himself.  "Because  they  didn't  look  forward 
and  prepare !  But  that's  just  what  I  propose  to  do  for 
Stirling!" 

She  was  quite  his  own  now,  listening  as  if  fascinated. 
Her  bright  eye  was  fixed  on  his,  confusing  him  slightly, 
yet  it  gave  encouragement.  His  confidence  increased, 
and  after  a  moment  he  began  again  with  more  energy. 

"Look  at  the  water-works — they're  vast!  I've  con- 
demned a  whole  valley  out  Grantham  way;  the  reser- 


EUls  Takes  His  Last  Step  but  One  199 

voirs  we're  making  are  much  too  large  for  the  city.  But 
in  ten  years,  what  then?  Still  too  large,  I'll  grant. 
Yet  when  Stirling  is  twice  its  present  size,  then  the 
reservoir  and  park  system,  for  I'm  combining  them,  will 
have  been  got  so  cheaply  that  this  city  will  be  richer 
than  any  other.  Water  system  installed,  lighting 
problems  solved,  all  land  necessary  for  municipal 
purposes  bought  and  paid  for  now.  The  next  genera- 
tion. Miss  Blanchard,  will  have  reason  to  praise  us. 
Isn't  that  plain  ?  And  I  mean  to  do  the  same  with  the 
transportation  system." 

"  Go  on  ! "  she  begged  him  as  he  paused. 

" It's  somewhat  different  in  this  case,"  he  said.  "The 
water-works  are  being  made  with  public  money,  the 
parks  also.  But  the  street-railway  is  a  corporation, 
and  although  I  control  it,  there  are  stockholders  to 
consider,  and  a  great  big  public  to  keep  in  good  temper 
while  at  the  same  time  I  am  working  for  the  future. 
There's  a  problem.  Miss  Blanchard — to  pay  dividends, 
put  on  extra  cars,  and  raise  wages,  while  I'm  buying 
land  for  future  stations,  bams,  and  terminals,  and  while 
I'm  even  thinking  of  the  construction  of  a  subway." 

"A  subway  !"  she  cried. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "don't  you  see  the  advantage 
of  it?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  exclaimed  Judith.  "Our  streets  are 
very  crowded  now,  down  town,  and  the  cars  make  such 
blocks !  But  a  subway !  Wouldn't  it  be  terribly  ex- 
pensive?" 

"Looked  at  in  a  broad  way,  no,"  he  answered.  "To 
condemn  and  take  the  necessary  real  estate  will  cost 
nothing  now  to  what  it  will  ten  years  hence.  And 
can  you  doubt  that  it  will  be  needed  then  ?  Then  why 
not  set  about  it  now?  Why  not  ask  the  public  to  in- 
commode itself  for  a  while,  to  gain  a  permanent  benefit  ? 


200  The  Baffiet 

What  they  ask  is  only  temporary;  if  we  let  things  slip 
along  from  year  to  year,  patching  up  and  patching  on, 
we'll  never  be  better  off.  There  was  a  man  hired  a 
place ;  in  fifteen  years  of  rent  he  paid  the  whole  value  of 
it  and  yet  didn't  own  it.  Better  to  have  mortgaged 
and  bought,  in  the  first  place.  That's  what  I  propose 
to  do  here." 

"I  understand,"  she  said. 

"I  acknowledge,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  appoint  myself 
to  do  these  things.  Officious,  isn't  it  ?  And  I'm  selfish 
about  it.  I  want  to  do  it  my  own  way,  and  I  want  to 
have  the  credit  of  doing  it.  Oh,  it's  a  job,  it's  a  task  ! " 
As  if  carried  away  by  enthusiasm,  he  rose  and  stood 
before  her.  "I  tell  you,  Miss  Blanchard,"  he  cried,  "I 
am  just  beginning  the  hardest  fight  of  my  life !  But  I 
like  work,  I  enjoy  a  fight,  and  with  the  help  of  my 
friends  (and  you're  the  chief  of  them)  I  shall  put  it 
through!" 

He  took  three  steps  away  from  her,  and  she  watched 
him,  not  feeHng  her  throbbing  heart  and  quickened 
breath.  As  he  turned  again,  she  asked  him  how  he 
meant  to  go  about  the  work. 

"By  legislative  help,"  he  explained,  coming  back  to 
his  seat  by  her  side.  "Prepare  to  hear  a  good  deal 
against  me:  that  I've  bought  the  common  council  and 
own  seats  in  the  legislature,  for  instance.  It's  long  been 
said  that  the  mayor's  my  own — for  purposes  of  corrup- 
tion, of  course.  Now  you  can  see  that  my  plans  are  too 
big  for  me  to  carry  out  by  myself,  or  even  for  the  cor- 
poration to  do  alone.  I  must  have  public  money  to 
help  me.  And  besides  that,  more  than  that,  I  must  be 
granted  the  application  of  a  principle  which  has  seldom, 
almost  never,  been  allowed  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
legislattire  or  the  courts." 

"What  is  that .? "  she  asked. 


Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  but  One  201 

He  answered,  "Eminent  domain!" 

"To  be  able,"  she  asked  in  astonishment,  "by  your- 
self to  condemn  and  take  land?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  confidently. 

"You  will  meet  very  strong  opposition." 

"I  expect  it,"  he  replied.  "And  I  shall  be 
justified  in  asking  for  the  right.  I  am  looking  to  the 
result." 

She  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"Now,  your  part  in  this,"  he  began  again,  and  she 
looked  up  quickly,  "is  to  be,  if  you  will  let  me  say  it  so, 
my  ear.  The  plan  will  be  proposed  soon;  I  shall  know 
what's  said  for  it,  I  want  to  know  what's  said  against  it. 
You  can  help  me  gage  the  quality  of  the  opposition. 
Will  you  do  it  ? " 

"Willingly,"  she  answered.     "But  the  strike?" 

"Ah,"  he  returned,  "I  wish  I  might  ask  you  to  help 
me  there  also.  There  are  two  things  which  can  assure 
a  strike  success:  one  is  determination  in  the  men  them- 
selves, one  is  the  sympathy  of  the  public.  Do  you  go 
about  enough,  do  you  see  people  enough — of  the  middle 
class,  I  mean — to  be  able  to  form  an  opinion  on  these 
two  points?" 

"I  can  do  so,"  she  answered. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  eagerly.  "One  thing  more — 
your  advice !  When  you  have  done  all  this,  will  you 
give  me  your  opinion  freely  ? " 

"If  it  is  of  any  worth,"  she  replied,  "you  will  be 
welcome  to  it." 

The  enthusiasm,  he  feared,  had  lapsed;  he  did  his 
best  to  rouse  it.  "If  you  range  yourself  against  me, 
I  shall  not  be  surprised." 

"I?     Against  you!"  she  cried. 

"I  appreciate  the  ties  of  habit  and  friendship,"  he 
said.     "But   for   them  there  are  many  who  would  be 


aoa  The  Barner 

with  me.  Conservatism  is  a  strong  force,  as  I  know 
very  well." 

"Do  you  think,"  she  inquired,  "that  I  cannot  see  the 
wise  course  when  you  show  it  to  me  so  clearly  ?  " 

He  concealed  his  gratification  by  a  counter  question. 
"Do  you  see  the  struggle  which  is  to  come  out  of  this ? " 

"How  much  and  how  long  will  it  be  ? " 

"It  may  take  years,"  he  said.  "PoHtical  campaigns 
may  turn  on  it.  Next  fall's  election,  the  mayoralty, 
may  be  determined  by  what  we  two,  here  in  this  parlour, 
talk  over  by  ourselves."  He  saw  the  flush  which  over- 
spread her  face,  the  pride  which  came  into  her  eyes,  yet 
he  hesitated  before  the  final  stroke, 

"Will  all  that  happen?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

She  opened  the  way  for  him.  Dropping  his  eyes,  he 
sat  for  a  moment  to  collect  himself;  when  he  looked  up 
his  face  was  serious.  "Miss  Blanchard,"  he  said,  "there 
will  be  from  all  this  certain  results,  personal  to  me, 
which  are  beginning  to  show  very  clearly.  Whether 
your  friends  are  going  to  make  this  a  demonstration 
against  me,  or  whether  they  think  they  must  act,  I  can't 
say,  but  we  are  going  to  come  to  an  open  rupture." 
Then  he  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  which  was  half 
amused,  half  deprecatory.  "Do  you  remember  that  I 
once  confessed  to  you  my  foolish  social  ambition  ? " 

"  It  was  not  foolish  ! "  she  objected. 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  returned,  "and  yet — perhaps.  At 
any  rate,  I  had  the  ambition  once." 

"Do  you  not  now?"  she  asked. 

"If  I  have,"  Ellis  answered,  "I  may  have  to  give  it 
up.  For  if  your  friends  come  out  against  me,  and  if  we 
fight  this  to  a  finish,  then  it  will  all  amount  to  this :  that 
I  must  choose  between  my  career  and  my — acquaint- 
ances." 

He  was  managing  her  well !     He  felt  an  unauthorised 


Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  but  One  203 

emotion,  prompting  him  to  say  words  akin  to  those 
which  he  had  heard  Jim  say  to  Beth,  but — with  such 
inspiration  as  Judith's — far  more  strong  and  eager. 
Yet  all  such  feeling  he  beat  down,  and  though  she  felt 
the  lack,  he  was  succeeding  with  her.  Coldly  as  he  made 
his  statements  and  carefully  repressed  all  emotion,  he 
was  still  able  to  rouse  her  enthusiasm. 

"Would  you  hesitate?"  she  asked  with  spirit. 

"It  seems  easy  to  you,"  he  returned  steadily,  "but 
consider.  It  means  that  I  must  live  a  life  alone.  I 
have  the  American  spirit,  Miss  Blanchard,  which  urges 
me  upward.  I  have  seen  what  is  better  than  what  I 
have;  I  am  trying  for  it.  Whatever  happens,  I  won't 
go  back.  But  the  door  is  shut  in  my  face.  So  I  stay 
alone  outside." 

"  It  must  not  be ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  But  if  it  happens  so .? " 

"  It  is  too  unjust ! "  She  could  say  nothing  more,  but 
her  feelings  enlisted  her  on  his  side,  and  she  restrained 
herself  with  difficulty.  Her  generosity,  her  energy, 
showed  so  plainly  in  her  glowing  features  that  he  asked 
himself:  "Is  this  the  moment?"  Then  the  rings  of 
the  portieres  rattled. 

It  was  the  Colonel,  who,  having  heard  the  earnest 
tones,  and  knowing  well  how  to  approach  Judith  on  an 
unpleasant  subject,  chose  to  come  now  in  order  to  pro- 
tect himself  by  the  presence  of  a  third  person.  "Judith," 
he  said,  standing  before  them,  beaming  benevolently, 
"I  have  just  had  an  idea.  It  was  very  pleasant  when 
Mr.  Ellis  dined  with  us  recently.  Suppose  we  ask  him 
again,  and  have  some  others  here:  Mrs.  Harmon,  say, 
for  a  matron,  and  some  of  our  friends. — ^With  Ellis  here," 
the  Colonel  thought,  "she  can't  refuse." 

But  he  was  surprised  at  the  eagerness  with  which  she 
accepted  the  suggestion.     Judith  began  at  once  to  plan 


204  The  Bartief 

whom  she  should  ask,  and  astonished  the  Colonel  by 
the  names  she  mentioned.  The  Judge,  the  Fennos, 
none  of  the  younger  people.  "A  formidable  affair," 
exclaimed  he,  surprised  and  puzzled.  "Do  you  think 
that  you  care  to  attempt  so  much  ? " 

Judith  turned  to  Ellis.     "You  shall  see !"  she  said. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  answered. 

And  now  he  was  all  on  fire,  waiting  for  the  Colonel  to 
go.  This  girl,  so  cold  to  others,  so  kind  to  him,  was 
wonderful.  With  her,  what  could  he  not  achieve? 
"Go,  go!"  he  found  himself  muttering  impatiently,  as 
still  the  Colonel  stayed.  Why  did  he  not  leave  them 
to  themselves? 

But  it  was  Judith  who  was  keeping  her  father,  for 
she  had  seen  the  shadow  of  the  approaching  crisis,  and 
feared  it  as  a  woman  may  who,  having  once  dreamed  of 
love,  flinches  at  a  union  devoid  of  passion.  Not  yet ! 
So  she  made  the  Colonel  talk.  Ellis  finally  took  his 
leave;  certainly  much  had  been  gained.  Judith  ac- 
companied him  to  the  door. 

"I  shall  think  over  all  you  have  said,"  she  told  him. 
"  It  is  wonderful,  what  you  have  planned  ! " 

"And  you  will  help  me?"  he  asked. 

"Be  sure  of  that,"  she  replied. 

Yes,  much  had  been  gained,  he  told  himself  as  he  went 
away.     He  had  thrilled  her,  and  if  he  could  rouse  her 

so  easily He  struck  his  hands  together.     There 

should  be  no  more  delay. 

Judith  went  into  the  sitting-room,  where  her  father 
was  explaining  to  Beth  the  plans  for  the  dinner.  Judith 
felt  that  she  was  trembling  with  the  reaction  from 
her  previous  excitement;  as  Beth's  quiet  eyes  rested 
on  her  it  seemed  as  if  her  feelings  could  be  read. 
"Don't  you  think  it  will  be  pleasant,  Beth?"  asked 
the  Colonel. 


Ellis  Takes  His  Last  Step  hut  One  205 

"No,"  answered  Beth  firmly.  "I  hope  it  will  not 
be  done." 

Leaving  her  father  to  expostulate  and  argue,  Judith 
went  up-stairs  to  her  chamber.  Beth's  disapproval  had 
the  effect  of  a  cold  sponge  pressed  upon  her  temples ;  she 
began  to  control  herself.  Never  had  Judith  been  able 
to  overlook  Beth's  opinion  lightly;  she  expressed  the 
feeling  of  the  best  of  their  caste.  What  power  had 
Ellis,  Judith  asked,  that  he  could  so  carry  her  away? 
She  sat  down  to  reason  with  herself,  to  measure  by  line 
and  square  the  structure  reared  by  his  imagination. 
Then  she  began  to  glow  again:  how  wonderful,  far- 
reaching,  philanthropic  were  his  plans  ! 

In  that  mood  she  went  to  bed,  and  had  fallen  into  a 
doze  when  she  became  aware  that  some  one  was  re- 
plenishing the  fire.  When  the  bright  blaze  had  lighted 
up  the  ceiling,  Beth,  in  her  wrapper,  came  and  seated 
herself  at  Judith's  side. 


CHAPTER   XXII 
Haroun  Al  Raschid 

Beth  saw  that  her  sister  was  awake ;  stooping  forward, 
she  kissed  her  gently.  "Don't  be  put  out  with  me, 
dear,"  she  said,  "for  what  I'm  going  to  say." 

"I  will  not,"  answered  Judith.  The  hour,  the  warm 
bed,  the  firelight,  made  her  unusually  gentle.  "What 
is  it,  dear?" 

"It  is  that  dinner,"  answered  Beth.  "I  wish  to 
make  sure  you  understand — what  people  will  think  of 
it,  I  mean.  Excuse  me,  Judith;  I  see  it  more  clearly 
than  you  can,  as  a  third  person,  dear." 

"Well,"  Judith  asked," what  will  people  think?" 

"Two  things,"  Beth  answered.  "First,  that  you  are 
trying  to  get  Mr.  Ellis  into  society." 

"I  am  willing  they  should  think  that." 

"The  second  is,"  went  on  Beth  slowly,  "that  the 
dinner,  given  here  at  our  house,  and  not  at  Mrs.  Har- 
mon's, as  perhaps  you  could  arrange  to  have  it " 

"Not  with  the  Judge's  consent,"  Judith  interrupted. 

"Or  some  one  else's,  then,"  said  Beth.  "Given  by 
us,  anyway,  people  would  think  the  dinner  would 
mean " 

"Go  on,"  directed  Judith. 

"That  you  and  Mr.  Ellis  are  engaged." 

There  was  silence,  in  which  the  crackling  of  the  fire, 
and  the  darting  of  the  shadows  on  the  ceiling,  were 
painfully  noticeable  to  Judith.  It  was  true!  People 
would  think  thus. 

206 


Haroun  AI  Raschid  307 

"Well?"  asked  Beth  at  length.  Judith  made  no 
answer,  and  Beth,  bending  down,  snuggled  her  head 
against  her  sister's  throat.  "I  hope,"  she  whispered, 
"that  you  can  manage  to  give  it  up."  Still  Judith 
made  no  sign;  Beth  only  made  it  harder.  "Judith, 
Judith  ! "  Beth  urged,  gently  pressing  her  with  her  arms. 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Judith  at  last,  speaking  with 
difficulty,  "how  I  can  give  up  the  dinner." 

Beth  sat  up  quickly.  "Truly?"  she  demanded,  with 
the  energy  of  disappointment. 

"Truly,"  answered  Judith  firmly. 

"Good-night,"  said  Beth  abruptly.  She  rose  and 
went  away  without  a  kiss.  Then  Judith  lay  for  a  long 
time  awake:  the  line  of  cleavage  was  beginning.  The 
choice  was  hard,  hard  ! 

But  in  the  morning  she  wrote  her  invitations,  after 
agreeing  upon  a  date  with  Mrs.  Harmon,  who  leaped  at 
the  chance.  Yet  she  showed  only  too  distinctly  what 
people  would  think  of  the  event. 

"Haven't  you,"  she  inquired  before  Judith  left, 
"haven't  you  something  to  tell  me,  Judith?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Judith  shortly.     "Good-bye." 

She  wrote  her  notes  in  her  father's  name,  puzzling 
first  over  the  wording  It  woiild  be  easy  to  trap  people 
into  coming,  and  when  they  arrived  they  could  find 
Ellis  of  the  party.  But  that  seemed  not  to  be  fair; 
unconventionally  she  inserted  in  each  note  the  words, 
"to  meet  Mr.  Stephen  F,  Ellis."  When  the  notes  were 
written  she  took  them  out  and  dropped  them  quickly 
into  the  post-box,  lest  her  courage  should  fail  her. 
Thus  it  was  settled !  The  notes  were  to  the  Fennos, 
the  Watsons,  Mr.  and  Miss  Pease.  Twenty-four  hours, 
and  the  whole  town  would  be  discussing  her.  Twenty- 
four  hours  brought  Saturday ;  in  the  morning  Mr.  Fenno 
came  to  the  house. 


2o8  The  Bamer 

He  always  interested  her,  for  he  meant  power.  Ellis, 
Pease,  Fenno:  such  was  their  rank  in  the  town;  but 
Judith  felt,  as  she  welcomed  him,  that  he  was  as  a  king 
about  to  abdicate,  looking  back  on  his  reign  with  weary 
eyes,  and  measuring  by  a  standard  of  his  own.  He  was 
one  to  whom  others  were  aggregations  of  forces — poten- 
tialities, not  men.  His  heavy  head  with  its  thick  hair 
and  deep  eyes  reminded  her  more  than  ever  of  an  old 
lion ;  the  rumble  of  his  voice  gave  force  to  his  slightest 
word. 

Judith  told  him  she  would  send  for  Beth.  "No,  my 
dear,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  Beth  is  not  here.  I  came  to 
see  you."  With  some  wonder  she  led  him  into  the 
parlour,  where  Mr.  Fenno  handed  her  a  note  and 
watched  her  while  she  read  it.  It  was  the  usual  short 
formula:  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Fenno  regret  that 
they  cannot  accept ,"  etc. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Judith  as  she  folded  up  the  paper. 

"That  is  my  wife's  answer,"  explained  Mr.  Fenno. 
"I  came  to  give  you  my  own  in  person."  But  then  he 
gazed  at  her  in  silence  until  she  became  restive  under 
the  scrutiny.  "My  dear  Miss  Judith,"  he  said  suddenly, 
"I  like  you  very  much." 

"Mr.  Fenno,"  she  returned,  "you  scarcely  know  me." 

"I  have  watched  you  a  great  deal,"  he  replied.  "I 
like  your  spirit,  your  rebellion  against  the  stupid  life  we 
lead.  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know  what  business  your 
father  has  with  two  such  daughters;  he  doesn't 
appreciate  you,  I'm  sure.  I'll  change  with  him  and 
welcome. — There,  don't  be  offended  with  me.  I  come 
to  beg  you  to  be  moderate.  Remember  that  I  speak  to 
you  with  the  voice  of  generations.  Not  even  you  can 
afford  to  disregard  the  wisdom  of  the  fathers." 

"I  do  not  wish  to,"  she  answered,  puzzled. 

"My  wife,"  he  said,  "would  write  that  note  and  let 


Haroun  AI  Raschid  209 

the  matter  pass.  But  I  want  to  thank  you,  first,  for  so 
frankly  putting  your  purpose  in  your  invitation.  'To 
meet  Mr.  Ellis.'  We  might  have  come,  indeed  we  should 
have  come,  but  for  that.  But  we  can't  mix  with  him, 
Miss  Judith." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  returned,  "that  the  wisdom  of 
the  fathers  usually  means  crystallisation,  sir." 

"My  wife,"  he  said,  "is  beyond  crystallisation:  she  is 
dead.  Of  course  she  goes  through  the  form  of  living. 
She  called  you  'that  young  woman'  when  she  received 
the  invitation,  and  wrote  as  you  see,  from  the  dead  in 
heaven  to  the  dead  in — limbo.  But,  my  dear  girl,  did 
you  ever  hear  of  me  agreeing  with  my  wife?  Almost 
never!     This  time  I  did." 

"Mr.  Fenno "  began  Judith. 

"Let  me  go  on,"  he  begged.  "Of  course  you  under- 
stand what  a  declaration  you  are  offering  to  your 
friends ;  what  a  choice  as  well.  I  know  your  opinion  of 
us ;  we.  Society,  are  irksome  to  you.  Just  as  irksome  to 
me,  I  assure  you ;  I  hate  my  own  life.  And  yet  we  are 
a  force;  in  spite  of  all  appearances  we  are  a  force  for 
good.  Come,  you  and  I  are  so  far  apart  in  age  that  we 
cannot  be  angry  with  each  other.  Let  me  say  my  say, 
and  when  we  part  let  us  smile  and  go  our  ways." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied. 

"Miss  Judith,"  he  said,  "there  has  been  an  aristocracy 
in  every  democracy  that  lived  three  generations.  Ours 
is  very  old,  somewhat  dried  and  formal,  with  a  hard 
crust.  Figureheads  we  are  to  a  degree;  rather  useless, 
perhaps.  That  is  why  such  a  girl  as  you  is  a  blessing  to 
us ;  a  few  more  years,  and  you  can  teach  us  many,  many 
things.  Stay  with  us ;  you  mustn't  go  off  in  the  wrong 
direction." 

She  made  no  answer. 

"This  man  Ellis,"  he  pursued.     "You  cannot  bring 


210  The  Bafficf 

him  in.  Believe  me,  it  is  impossible.  You  must 
choose  between  us." 

"What  if  I  make  the  choice ? "  she  inquired. 

"And  choose  against  us?  You  would  be  sorry.  My 
dear,  what  has  blinded  your  eyes  ?  I  know  you  admire 
his  energy,  his  immense  capacities.  But  those  are  not 
everything.     Ellis  is  not  honest." 

"Mr.  Fenno  !"  she  cried,  starting. 

"I  have  watched  him,"  he  went  on  steadily,  "since 
first  he  came  to  town.  I  know  his  methods.  Where 
did  he  get  his  money?" 

"Through  ordinary  business,"  she  asserted. 

"Until  he  became  president  of  the  street-raiiway," 
said  Mr.  Fenno  with  emphasis,  "Ellis  never  held  a 
position,  never  did  any  business,  never  appeared  before 
the  city  clearly  as  concerned  in  any  legitimate  under- 
taking. Since  he  built  his  house  over  here  he  has 
become  respectable — outwardly.  But  that  house  was 
built  with  public  money." 

"Never ! "  she  cried  indignantly. 

"He  has  his  own  little  Tammany  here,"  Mr.  Fenno 
said  unmoved.  "But  he  is  becoming  too  bold.  He 
will  wreck  himself  by  the  demands  he  is  making  for  the 
street-railway  system." 

"The  public  will  be  afraid  of  granting  eminent 
domain;  he  expects  that.  For  the  rest,  what  else  is  he 
showing  than  wise  forethought  ? " 

"For  the  rest,"  he  rejoined,  his  deep  voice  em- 
phasising harshly,  "he  is  but  using  the  plans  of  George 
Mather,  which  came  to  him  with  the  railway." 

"No  !"  she  cried  involuntarily.  He  made  no  answer, 
but  looked  at  her  silently.  "Mr.  Fenno,"  she  said,  to 
cover  her  confusion,  "this  question  is  progress  against 
conservatism." 

"$o,"  he  remarked,  "we  have  arrived  at  a  deadlock. 


Harotin  AI  Raschid  211 

Well,  I  expected  it.  Good-bye,  Miss  Judith.  I  shall 
be  interested  in  the  result  of  this."  They  parted 
formally,  yet  his  last  keen  glance  troubled  her. 

And  what  he  had  said !  No  one  had  ever  accused 
Ellis  before — not  directly.  Whispers  she  had  heard, 
of  course,  but  such  quiet  confidence  as  Mr.  Fenno 
showed  was  new  to  her;  it  brought  the  question  nearer 
home,  and  seemed  to  command  her  to  find  out  where 
Ellis  got  his  money.  For  some  hours  she  was  troubled, 
but  at  last,  as  one  is  prone  to  do  before  a  great  question, 
Judith  put  it  aside  for  a  smaller  one.  Whom  should 
she  ask  in  the  Fennos'  place?  She  decided  that  she 
would  not  venture  again  with  the  older  people,  and 
choosing  George  Mather  and  Mary  Carr,  wrote  the  notes 
to  invite  them.  Then,  late  in  the  day,  she  found  an 
answer  to  Mr.  Fenno's  arguments. 

Her  father  approved  of  ElHs :  that  was  enough.  The 
defense  was  specious,  almost  cowardly, "for  Judith  knew 
her  father.  But  she  regained  her  self-control,  supported 
herself  anew  by  the  argument  of  progressiveness  against 
conservatism,  and  arrived  again  at  complete  approval 
of  Ellis.  She  recalled  their  last  talk,  remembered  his 
request,  and  decided  she  would  try  to  fulfill  it.  She 
had  spent  most  of  the  day  in  the  house ;  it  was  growing 
dark,  she  needed  exercise,  and  would  go  and  watch,  at 
a  certain  crowded  comer,  the  working  of  the  transfer 
system.  Once  in  the  cold  air,  her  spirits  rose,  and  she 
hurried  down  town.  At  length  she  arrived  where  cars 
loaded  to  the  fenders  groaned  slowly  by,  or  stood  and 
blocked  the  traffic. 

The  streets  were  full,  the  sidewalks  crowded  with 
people  hurrying  homeward.  Judith  liked  the  twilight, 
the  bustle,  and  the  lighted  shops.  At  the  familiar  corner 
she  found  many  shoppers  waiting  for  their  cars,  and  went 
and  stood  among  them.     She  seemed  to  herself  to  be 


ax  a  The  Batrier 

doing  something  romantic,  and  (little  as  such  considera- 
tions usually  appealed  to  her)  was  pleased  to  stand 
among  the  people  like  a  queen  in  disguise,  to  listen  to 
their  grievances,  guilelessly  expressed,  and  to  bear  the 
complaints  to  the  man  who  best  knew  what  was  needed. 
It  was  an  attractive  picture  which  she  painted  of  her 
own  importance.  But  just  as  she  was  congratulating 
herself  on  the  deepening  dusk,  which  made  features  dim, 
an  electric  light  sputtered  out  overhead  and  flooded  the 
place  with  its  palpitating  radiance. 

An  acquaintance  immediately  recognised  and  spoke 
to  her.  Scarcely  had  she  got  rid  of  him  than  another, 
catching  her  eye,  bowed  and  made  toward  her.  'This 
will  never  do,"  she  thought,  as  she  gave  him  the  slip. 
Accordingly,  she  went  to  a  doorway  where  the  shadow 
from  the  lamp  was  deep.  There  she  stood  and  watched, 
while  cars  came  and  went,  while  men  and  women 
rushed  and  struggled  to  board  them,  or  while  others, 
moving  impatiently  with  cold  and  weariness,  waited 
and  fretted  while  they  read  in  vain  the  wording  on  each 
car.  It  was  an  active  scene,  a  fascinating  one  to 
Judith,  until  a  small  figure  came  and  stood  between  her 
and  the  others,  aloof  and  watching,  like  herself.  It  was 
ElHs. 

She  was  amused,  and  drew  within  her  shelter  lest  he 
should  see  her:  she  would  tease  him  when  next  they 
should  meet.  Then  she  saw  another  man,  a  fellow  in 
rough  working-clothes,  watching  Ellis  from  one  side. 
Presently  the  man  advanced  to  him  and  spoke;  Judith 
did  not  hear  their  words  until  Ellis,  turning,  led  the  man 
away  from  the  crowd  until  he  stood  within  a  few  yards 
of  her. 

"Now,  what  did  you  say?"  demanded  Ellis,  halting. 

"I've  never  been  paid,  you  know  I've  never  been 
paid,  sir,  for  that  Chebasset  job.     Only  fifty  I've  ever 


VUtoisn  AI  Raschid  213 

got,  I  was  to  have  a  hundred."  The  man  spoke  in  a 
whine;  his  voice  was  husky  and  in  a  degree  famiUar  to 
Judith;  as  the  Hght  fell  strongly  from  overhead,  his  hat 
cast  a  deep  shadow  on  his  face. 

"That  job  failed,"  answered  Ellis. 

"I  did  my  best,"  answered  the  man  sullenly.  Then 
he  quickly  changed  his  manner;  his  voice  became  sharp, 
yet  still  it  reminded  Judith  of  tones  she  once  had  heard. 
"Pay  me!"  he  demanded.  "Pay  me,  Mr.  Ellis,  or  by 
God  I'll  have  something  to  say  to  your  men  on  those 
cars  that  will  make  this  strike  certain.  If  I  tell  them 
of  Chebasset " 

"Wait ! "  and  Ellis  raised  a  hand.  "  How  much  truth 
is  there  in  this  talk  of  a  strike  among  my  men  ? " 

"A  good  deal,"  snarled  the  fellow.  "It  wouldn't 
take  much  to  bring  it  on." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Ellis  composedly.  He  put  his 
hand  in  his  pocket,  drew  out  a  roll  of  bank  bills,  and 
gave  some  to  the  man.  "  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
the  information." 

"  Fifty  ? "  demanded  the  workman. 

"Sixty,"  Ellis  replied. 

The  man  looked  at  Ellis,  then  at  the  notes;  suddenly 
his  bearing  altered,  and  he  touched  his  hat.  "Thank 
you,"  he  mumbled,  and  walked  away.  EUis  turned 
again  to  watch  the  cars. 

Judith  stood  motionless;  the  talk  meant  nothing  to 
her,  except  that  it  showed  her  Ellis's  resource  and 
revealed  the  small  ways,  as  well  as  the  great,  in  which 
he  was  called  on  to  manage  men.  Nevertheless,  she 
felt  uncomfortable,  and  when  Ellis  had  moved  away 
she  prepared  to  slip  off.  But  before  her  path  was 
entirely  clear  she  saw  Jim  Wayne  approach  and  speak 
to  Ellis.  In  Jim's  appearance  was  that  which  struck 
her  with  astonishment. 


814  The  Bamef 

For  he,  usually  so  neat,  was  untidy;  his  coat  was 
buttoned  askew,  and  from  under  his  hat  his  hair  strayed 
in  disorder.  He  accosted  Ellis  eagerly;  she  heard  him 
say  "Here  you  are"  in  a  tone  of  relief,  and  began 
speaking  quickly.  Judith  took  a  step  forward,  preparing 
to  go.  But  then  Ellis  turned  and  led  Jim  near  the  door- 
way; Judith's  chance  to  escape  was  lost,  yet  she  was  on 
the  point  of  revealing  herself,  when  Jim's  words  stayed 
her. 

"You  must!  You  must!"  he  was  saying,  in  such  a 
tone  of  actual  demand  that  Judith  wondered  and  shrank 
back.     Few  persons  dared  to  speak  to  Ellis  thus. 

"Must?"  repeated  Ellis  angrily.  But  then  he 
laughed.     "Wayne,  you  have  no  claim  on  me." 

"Who  gave  me  the  idea?"  cried  Jim.  "Who  told  me 
what  to  do?  You  I  But  it  is  gone — all  gone!"  The 
gesture  with  which  he  struck  his  hands  together  re- 
vealed both  horror  and  despair. 

"Your  wits  as  well,"  returned  Ellis  shortly.  "If  you 
want  help  from  a  man,  don't  begin  by  insulting  him." 

"But  something  must  be  done  at  once!"  cried  Jim. 
"  If  Mather " 

"I  understand  that  he  went  to  Chebasset  this  morn- 
ing," remarked  Ellis  as  if  indifferently,  yet  he  glanced 
sidewise  upon  the  young  man.  "He  returned  very 
much  disturbed." 

"There!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "He  has  found  it  out!" 
Again  he  clenched  his  hands  with  that  gesture  of 
despair.  Judith  felt  that  something  was  hanging  over 
him,  over  her,  and  in  spite  of  herself  drew  deeper  into 
the  shadow. 

"Mather  can  be  quieted,"  said  Ellis,  unperturbed. 
"Come,  this  is  no  place  for  you  to  carry  on  like  this. 
Meet  me  this  evening." 

"Where?" 


Harotjn  AI  Raschxd  215 

"At — some  one's  house.     Half-past  nine." 

"It  must  be  earlier,"  returned  Jim. 

"Then  come  to  the  Blanchards ;  I  mean  to  dine  there." 

"No,"  answered  Jim,  "I  can't  go  there.  But  promise 
me  to  come  away  early  ! " 

"I  will  come  when  I  choose,"  answered  Ellis  im- 
patiently.    Then  he  added:     "Go!  I  see  Mather." 

Jim  turned  and  darted  off,  holding  his  head  low. 
Ellis  walked  composedly  in  the  opposite  direction ;  and 
to  Judith,  thus  left  alone,  the  sound  of  the  shuffling  of 
the  crowd,  the  rumbling  of  the  electrics,  the  subdued 
roar  of  the  more  distant  traffic,  rose  suddenly  into  Hfe. 
She  moved  forward,  saw  that  her  escape  was  clear,  and 
hurried  away.  At  the  next  comer  she  found  a  public 
carriage  and  directed  the  driver  to  take  her  home. 

The  vehicle  was  closed;  she  let  down  a  window  and 
leaned  to  it  for  the  air.  What  were  these  matters  she 
had  overheard?  The  episode  of  the  workman  passed 
from  her  mind,  but  what  had  Jim  demanded  of  Ellis, 
what  had  gone  wrong,  and  where  were  they  to  meet? 
They  were  far  more  intimate  than  she  had  supposed. 
And  why  had  Jim  avoided  Mather?  Weariness  came 
over  Judith  as  she  considered  her  own  ignorance.  These 
were  the  things  which  men  did  by  themselves;  these 
were  the  signs  of  those  business  troubles  which  women 
heard  of  but  never  met,  the  smirch  and  jostle  of  down- 
town affairs.  Such  things  happened  daily — and  Judith 
roused  to  a  feeling  of  envy.  Little  daily  worries  and 
cares — the  men  had  too  many  of  them,  doubtless,  but 
she  had  far  too  few. 

And  now,  as  still  she  leaned  by  her  window,  she  saw 
Mather.  He  was  on  a  comer,  full  in  the  glare  of  a  street- 
light, and  he  seemed  to  be  looking  among  the  passers 
as  if  in  search  of  Jim.  The  carriage  jolted  slowly  across 
the  cobbles  and  the  tracks ;  then,  blocked  by  vehicles  in 


2i6  The  Barrier 

front,  it  stopped  almost  at  his  side.  Judith  drew  back, 
but  still  she  watched  him.  Tall,  strong,  somewhat 
anxious  and  overburdened,  why  could  he  not  be — 
different  ? 

A  woman  stood  by  his  side,  or  rather  a  girl  with  a 
woman's  haggard  eyes.  She  was  looking  up  sidewise 
into  Mather's  face,  studying  it  with  a  vixenish  eagerness. 
She  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  he  looked  down  at 
her. 

"Say,"  she  said,  "you're  a  good-lookin'  feller." 

He  answered  soberly.     "Thank  you." 

"Isn't  there  some  place,"  she  asked,  "where  we 
could  eat  together?" 

His  hand  went  to  his  pocket.  As  he  made  the 
motion  a  figure,  large,  noiseless,  with  gleaming  buttons 
on  a  blue  uniform,  approached  and  stood  close  behind: 
a  policeman,  watching  curiously.  Mather  drew  out  a 
bank  note  and  offered  it  to  the  girl. 

"With  that,"  he  asked,  "can  you  be  good  for  a  few 
days?" 

"Wat  yer  mean  ? "  she  demanded.  But  she  snatched 
the  money.     "Ah,  you're  a  real  swell,  you  are." 

"Go  home,"  he  said.     "Go  home — Jenny." 

"Jenny!"  she  exclaimed.  "How'd  yer  know  my 
name?"  Then  as  if  warned  of  the  presence  behind  she 
turned  and  saw  the  policeman,  shrank,  and  fled.  The 
roundsman  and  Mather  regarded  each  other. 

"Did  you  know  her,  sir?"  asked  the  man. 

"Never  saw  her  before,"  was  the  answer.  "You 
don't  read  Rossetti,  I  suppose,  officer.  Here  comes  my 
car." 

He  stepped  from  the  curb  to  go  behind  Judith's 
carriage ;  at  the  same  moment  the  vehicle  started  with  a 
jerk  and  went  swiftly  forward.  For  a  little  longer  it 
was  involved  in  the  city  traffic,  then  it  turned  into  a 


Haroun  AI  Raschid  217 

quiet  street  and  bowled  onward  quickly.  Once  more 
Judith  leaned  at  the  window,  glad  of  the  cold  air.  She 
was  oppressed;  to-night  life  seemed  complicated,  awful, 
even  tragic. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Plain    Language 

Once  at  home,  where  Beth  and  the  Colonel  were  still 
absent,  Judith  went  to  the  book-case  in  the  little  par- 
lour and  drew  out  the  volume  of  Rossetti's  poems. 
"Jenny,"  she  found  in  the  index,  and  turning  to  the  page, 
she  read: 

"  Lazy  laughing  languid  Jenny, 
Fond  of  a  kiss  and  fond  of  a  guinea " 


No,  not  that  kind  of  a  Jenny  was  that  whom  she  had 
seen.     Rather  this: 

"  When,  wealth  and  health  slipped  past,  you  stare 

Along  the  streets  alone,  and  there. 

Round  the  long  park,  across  the  bridge. 

The  cold  lamps  at  the  pavement's  edge 

Wind  on  together  and  apart, 

A  fiery  serpent  for  your  heart." 

And  then  the  moral,  the  world-moral,  this: 

"  Like  a  toad  within  a  stone 
Seated  while  Time  crumbles  on; 
Which  sits  there  since  the  world  was  curs'd 
By  man's  transgression  at  the  first;     . 
Which  always — whitherso  the  stone 
Be  flung — sits  there,  deaf,  blind,  alone; — 
Aye,  and  shall  not  be  driven  out 
Till  that  which  shuts  him  round  about 
Break  at  the  very  Master's  stroke. 
And  the  dust  thereof  vanish  as  smoke, 
And  the  seed  of  Man  vanish  as  dust : — 
Even  so  within  this  world  is  Lust." 
218 


Plain  Language  219 

Judith  sat  with  the  book  open  in  her  lap,  meditating. 
She  knew  enough  of  that  lower  life  to  have  for  it  a  man's 
pity  rather  than  a  woman's  scorn;  recalling  Mather's 
action,  she  liked  him  better  for  it.  And  she  began  to 
think  of  him  regretfully,  as  one  who  just  missed  the 
highest  capacities  and  so  failed  to  meet  the  supreme 
tests.  "A  fine  fellow!"  she  murmvired,  so  absorbed 
that  she  did  not  hear  the  door-bell  ring,  nor  notice 
footsteps  until  Mather  himself  entered  the  room  with 
hurried  step.  He  wore  his  overcoat;  on  his  brow  was 
still  the  frown  of  care. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  find  you.  Is  Jim 
Wayne  here,  Judith  ?" 

She  rose  and  laid  the  book  aside,  carefully,  so  that  he 
should  not  see  what  she  had  been  reading.  "No,"  she 
answered.  "It  is  his  night  to  come.  But  I  saw  him 
down  town,  George,  and  he  looked  worried.  Is  any- 
thing wrong?" 

"It  has  been  a  bad  day  in  stocks,"  he  answered. 
"I  must  find  Jim.  Excuse  my  troubUng  you,  Judith." 
And  he  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Wait,  George."  She  took  from  the  table  the  note 
which  earher  she  had  written  him.  "I  have  an  invita- 
tion for  you." 

He  took  it,  opened  it,  and  began  to  read.  "Ah!" 
he  said  at  first,  as  if  with  pleasure.  But  as  she  watched 
she  saw  a  quick  and  startling  change  in  his  countenance; 
his  forehead  contracted  with  pain,  and  he  closed  his 
lips  firmly.  But  he  read  on  to  the  end,  and  then 
looked  at  her  quietly, 

"I  cannot  come,"  he  said. 

With  a  conscious  summoning  of  her  courage  she 
asked,  "You  have  an  engagement?" 

"No,"  he  replied.  "But  I  cannot  march  in  Ellis's 
triumph," 


220  The  Barfief 

"You  are  entirely  mistaken,"  she  said  haughtily. 

"If  not  yet,  then  soon,"  he  returned.  She  made  no 
answer,  yet  she  flushed  with  indignation ;  he  bowed  and 
turned  to  the  door.  Then  he  came  back.  "Judith, 
will  you  allow  me  to  speak  with  you  frankly?  A  few 
words  may  make  a  difference  to  us  forever," 

It  was  not  the  words  which  impressed  her,  it  was  the 
emotion  which  drove  them  from  his  breast,  which 
burned  in  his  eyes.  She  was  so  astonished  that  she 
made  no  answer;  he  said,  to  emphasise  his  request, 
"It  may  be  seldom  that  we  speak  again." 

"Seldom  speak  again ? "  she  repeated. 

He  took  her  words  for  a  consent.  "Judith,"  he  asked, 
"what  is  this  man  Ellis  to  you  ?  Do  you  realise  that  he 
is  using  you?" 

Her  indignation  rose.     "Using  me !" 

"To  get  among  us,"  he  explained.  "He  has  no 
gratitude,  no  remorse.  Once  he  has  used  a  man  he 
throws  him  aside  like  an  old  glove ;  he  has  never  shown 
personal  feeling  for  any  one.  Why  do  you  have  to  do 
with  him?" 

"You  envy  his  ability,"  she  said. 

"Not  I,"  he  answered.  "I  admire  his  firmness,  his 
persistence,  his  capacity.  But  I  cannot  admire  him. 
Judith,  he  is  a  bane,  a  poison  in  our  system,  a 
disease!" 

"You  mistake  him,"  she  cried. 

"Not  I.     I  know  him,  and  am  going  to  fight  him." 

"Fight  him,  then!"  she  returned. 

He  spoke  more  quietly.  "We  have  been  careless 
with  him;  he  has  brought  corruption  into  the  city. 
But  small  cities  are  not  so  conscienceless  as  big  ones; 
the  better  elements  are  rising  against  him.  This  day 
I  was  formally  asked  to  lead  them,  and  I  shall  probably 
be  against  his  man  in  the  mayoralty  contest  next  fall. 


i^PIain  Language  221 

It  is  a  battle  of  principles :  that  is  why  I  can  never  take 
salt  with  him." 

She  was  quite  unmoved,  using  her  previous  defense. 
"It  will  be  a  struggle  of  the  new  against  the  old." 

"Ah,  Judith,"  he  repHed  almost  sadly,  "is  he  blinding 
you  thus  ?  And  do  you  see  my  meaning  clearly  ?  All 
the  better  elements  will  oppose  him.  Whoever  is  with 
him  will  be  against  us." 

"Who  are  you,"  she  cried,  "to  pronounce  on  good 
and  evil?  Take  care  against  self-righteousness, 
George," 

"I  will  take  care,"  he  answered.  "But  there  is 
another  side  to  this,  Judith.  Put  this  larger  issue  by 
and  turn  to  the  smaller,  the  personal  one  between  you 
and  me.  Judith,  I  have  loved  you.  I  thought  you 
were  womanly  at  bottom.  But  have  you  no  heart,  after 
all?"     His  intensity  was  growing. 

"That  still  troubles  you?"  she  inquired. 

' ' Are  you  absolutely  cold  ? "  he  asked.  "Are  your  old 
friends  nothing  to  you  ?     What  if  they  turn  from  you  ?  " 

"So,"  she  said,  "you  threaten  me  with  that?" 

"It  is  inevitable,"  he  said  with  energy.  "Even  as 
my  love — no  boy's  love,  Judith — wavers  and  grows 
sick,  so  will  their  friendship.  Have  we  all  mistaken 
you  ?    Will  you  give  such  approval  to  such  a  man  ? " 

Anger  at  last  grew  strong  within  her.  "George!" 
she  said  in  warning. 

But  he,  casting  before  her  his  burning  reproaches, 
would  not  be  repressed.  "I  say  the  only  thing  which 
can  bring  you  to  yourself.  Do  my  words  sting  ?  They 
tear  me  as  I  utter  them!"  His  face  was  changing  as 
he  spoke,  paling  as  if  the  effort  weakened  him,  yet  still 
he  dragged  out  the  words.  "Judith,  I  could  see  you 
married  to  an  honourable  man,  and  still  love  and  bless 
you.     I  will  idealise  you  until  you  besmirch  yourself — 


222  The  Barrier 

but  you  are  no  child,  to  do  that  unknowingly.  On  the 
day  you  give  yourself  to  ElUs " 

"Stop!"  she  interrupted. 

"No!"  he  cried.  "It  is  in  your  mind;  you  cannot 
deny  it.  On  the  day,  Judith,  that  you  give  yourself  to 
him,  you  sell  yourself!" 

He  stood  voiceless  and  panting,  gazing  at  her  with 
accusing  eyes.  And  for  an  instant  she  reeled,  a  voice 
within  her  cried  "Jenny!"  and  she  saw  that  woman  of 
the  streets.  Then  fierce  indignation  flooded  her  veins; 
she  started  to  the  table,  seized  the  Japanese  knife,  and 
held  it  naked  in  her  hand.  With  ease  she  balanced 
and  pointed  the  heavy  weapon. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  he  asked,  "that  you  can  hurt  me 
deeper?" 

For  a  moment  they  stood  confronting,  his  courage 
as  strong  as  her  anger.  Then  she  threw  the  dagger 
clattering  upon  the  table,  and  pointed  to  the  door. 
"Go!" 

He  gave  her  one  searching  look,  bowed,  and  went 
quickly  from  the  house. 

The  Colonel,  entering  some  fifteen  minutes  later, 
found  Judith  in  the  arm-chair  where  she  had  flung  herself 
after  pacing  the  room.  "Judith,"  he  said,  "I  met  Mr. 
Ellis  just  now,  and  he  said  he  was  coming  up  to  dinner." 

"Very  well,"  she  answered  inattentively. 

He  saw  that  her  brow  was  clouded,  and  his  desire  to 
speak  with  her  seriously  began  to  melt.  When  he  was 
alone  it  seemed  to  him  simple  enough  to  say  a  few 
fatherly  words  in  favour  of  Ellis;  the  Colonel  wished 
very  much  to  have  his  mind  relieved  about  the  future. 
But  now  was  not  the  time,  not  while  that  frown  was  on 
her  face.     So  he  went  up-stairs. 

Then  his  statement  found  its  way  into  Judith's 
mind,  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet.     Ellis  was  coming — 


Plain  Language  223 

then  it  was  coming !  She  hurried  up -stairs  and  dressed 
herself  with  care ;  when  she  was  ready  she  was  a  picture. 
But  it  was  not  her  gown  and  scanty  jewels  that  made 
her  radiant,  but  the  glow  within  her,  which  was  the 
smouldering  indignation  she  still  felt  against  Mather. 
Thus  to  threaten,  thus  to  dare  her,  thus  to  set  himself 
up  as  judge !     She  waited  impatiently  for  Ellis  to  come. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
Bringing  About  an  Understanding 

Beth  was  much  disappointed  that  evening;  it  was 
Saturday,  yet  Jim  did  not  come  to  dinner.  She  wished 
for  him  especially  as  a  relief  from  the  irritation  of 
Ellis's  presence;  she  longed  for  Jim  as  the  meal  pro- 
gressed, for  her  father  was  very  complacent  to  Ellis, 
and  it  troubled  her.  But  Ellis  was  a  greater  cause  of 
distress,  as  he  spoke  more  than  usual,  and  more  directly 
at  Judith.  They  were  talking  of  politics,  he  and  the 
Colonel.  Municipal  affairs,  Judith  put  in;  what  was 
the  prospect  in  them? 

"A  fight,"  answered  Ellis,  "and  with  the  man  I  least 
like  as  my  opponent:  your  friend,  George  Mather.  I 
expect  he  will  be  the  reform  candidate  for  mayor — 
it  is  too  bad  !" 

"Why?"  asked  Beth. 

"Because,"  he  answered,  turning  to  her,  "I  should 
like  to  be  friends  with  him.  If  he  and  I  could  agree, 
nothing  could  stand  before  us.  He  is  the  most  ener- 
getic and  far-sighted  among  the  other  side." 

"Come  over  to  him,  then,"  said  Beth  bluntly. 

He  smiled  at  her.  "I  see  that  you  think  as  Mather 
does.  It's  very  natural.  But  I  have  not  only  the 
misfortune  to  be  with — ^well,  let's  say  the  commoner 
people,  but  I  also  believe  as  they  believe,  and  act  as  I 
do  from  conviction.  Nothing  would  give  me  greater 
pleasure.  Miss  Blanchard,  than  to  see  things  as  you  do, 
and  to  set  myself,  as  I  believe  Mr.  Mather  conscientiously 

224 


Bringing  About  an  Understanding  225 

does,  against  progress.  There  would  be  great  personal 
advantage  to  me  in  it." 

"Mr.  Ellis  means,"  explained  the  Colonel,  "that  the 
defensive  is  always  the  easiest  side  to  fight  on." 

"More  than  that,"  added  Ellis.  "The  other  side  in 
this  quarrel  is  the  respectable  one.  Positively,  I  am 
almost  disreputable."  He  paused  for  her  comment; 
Beth  smiled  with  constraint,  amazed  at  his  boldness. 

"Outwardly,  you  mean,"  said  Judith. 

"And  only  outwardly,  I  trust,"  he  responded.  "There 
are  underlying  principles  governing  my  actions  (he 
was  speaking  to  Beth  again,  after  turning  to  Judith 
for  a  single  moment)  which  unfortunately  do  not 
appear.     I  expect  to  be  misunderstood  by  your  friends." 

"Always?"  asked  Beth.  "Are  not  the  rest  of  us  to 
comprehend  you  some  day,  Mr.  ElHs?" 

"Let  me  show  you,"  he  said,  "how  to  comprehend 
me  now."  He  leaned  toward  her,  smiling;  for  the  first 
time  Beth  felt  a  magnetic  quality  in  his  glance,  but  it 
was  reptilian  and  unpleasant.  He  told  her  of  his  out- 
look on  the  future;  he  grated  on  her,  yet  he  impressed 
her,  for  even  with  opponents  such  as  ElHs  she  was 
reasonable.  But  she  felt  a  fundamental  falsity,  felt  it 
but  could  not  expose  it ;  it  was  instinct  alone  that  taught 
her  suspicion  of  his  unanswerable  words.  For  no  logic 
could  meet  them ;  they  were  wisdom  itself.  Of  one  thing, 
however,  Beth  felt  certain :  that  they  were  not  directed 
at  her  but  at  Judith. 

And  Judith  responded.  When  Ellis  stopped  speak- 
ing, she  took  up  the  word;  with  real  earnestness  she 
explained,  added,  and  finally  approved.  The  plan  was 
wise,  far-reaching — oh,  thought  Beth,  if  but  Mather, 
and  not  Ellis,  had  been  the  man  to  originate  it !  Then 
Beth  started:  had  she  not  once  heard  that  Mather  had 
made  plans,  perhaps  just  such  as  these,  at  which  the 


226  The  Barrfcf 

older  heads  had  wondered?  Although  on  mere  con- 
jecture, she  took  up  the  matter  as  boldly  as  she  could. 

"I  did  not  know,  Mr.  Ellis,  that  you  were  such  an 
engineer." 

"I  am  only  a  promoter,"  he  answered.  "You  will 
find  the  opposition  newspapers  calling  me  that.  But 
I  often  handle  large  matters,  and  that  is  how  I  came 
on  the  idea." 

"You  mean  you  found  it  ? "  she  asked.  "Did  you  not 
originate  it?" 

Ellis  flushed  and  hesitated;  Judith  spoke  quickly. 
"I  don't  suppose  anything  in  the  world  is  so  original 
that  it  hasn't  been  proposed  before.  Mr.  ElHs,  Beth, 
is  profiting  by  the  experience  of  other  cities — aren't 
you?"     And  Judith  turned  to  him. 

Gratified,  he  assented.  Beth  saw  the  glance  of  under- 
standing that  passed  between  them;  turning  to  her 
father,  she  saw  him  watching  Judith  with  satisfaction. 
She  felt  almost  faint:  how  was  the  world  going  so  wrong 
that  this  could  happen?  Nothing  was  left  for  Beth 
but  to  declare,  as  brightly  as  she  could — yet  Judith 
felt  the  distress  in  her  voice — that  this  was  all  so  new 
that  she  must  think  it  over.     After  that  she  sat  silent. 

But  Judith,  having  expressed  her  zeal  in  Ellis's 
cause,  was  more  than  ever  pleased  with  herself  and  with 
him.  It  struck  her  particularly  that  he  was  generous 
toward  Mather,  that  it  was  kind  of  Ellis  to  praise  him 
and  desire  him  as  an  ally,  and  that,  contrasting  with 
Mather's  denunciation  of  his  rival,  Ellis  showed  the 
finer  character.  She  was  about  to  question  him  again 
when  the  servant  brought  a  note  and  laid  it  at  her 
plate. 

"The  messenger  asked  me  to  deliver  it  to  you  at  once, 
Miss  Judith." 

Judith  took  it  up ;  it  was  addressed  in  Mather's  hand. 


Bringing  About  an  Understanding  227 

Her  instant  impulse  to  destroy  it  he  had  foreseen,  for 
in  the  comer  of  the  envelope  he  had  written  "Not 
personal."  So,  still  flushing  with  the  indignation  she 
had  first  felt,  she  opened  the  envelope  and  took  out 
the  note.  It  was  written  on  the  paper  of  the  Univer- 
sity Club. 

"My  dear  Judith:  I  must  find  Jim  Wayne,  but  Beth  must  not 
know.  Trusting  absolutely  to  your  secrecy,  I  give  my  reasons. 
Matters  have  been  mismanaged  at  the  mill;  and  just  now,  calling 
on  Mrs.  Wayne,  I  found  her  in  despair  over  the  disappearance  of 
her  securities.  I  fear  that  Jim  has  been  speculating,  and  I  am 
sure  he  is  avoiding  me,  but  I  must  find  him  before  he  takes  it  into 
his  head  to  leave  the  city,  for  perhaps  I  can  set  matters  right.  If 
he  comes  to  your  house,  will  you  immediately  telephone  me  at 
the  club  ?     I  am 

Yours  in  great  haste, 

George  Mather." 

Judith  was  not  one  to  be  disturbed  by  sudden  news, 
bad  or  good ;  she  took  this  calmly.  But  as  she  sat,  still 
looking  at  the  letter,  its  meaning  began  to  come  upon 
her,  Jim  had  been  with  Ellis  that  afternoon,  had  had 
some  previous  understanding  with  him,  had  almost 
accused  him.  Jim  had  fled  at  Mather's  coming,  leaving 
unsaid  more  of  those  reproaches  and  demands  with 
which  he  had  showered  Ellis.  His  very  words  came 
back  to  her:  "Who  gave  me  the  idea?  Who  told  me 
what  to  do?"  Then  she  remembered  Ellis's  cold 
remark:     "Wayne,  you  have  no  claim  upon  me." 

Not  understanding  why,  Judith  began  to  tremble, 
and  her  hands  grew  cold.  It  was  as  if  her  instinct 
outstripped  her  mind  and  gave  warning  of  what  was 
coming.  Slowly,  sitting  there  in  her  place  and  looking 
straight  before  her,  she  began  to  unravel  the  puzzle. 
Ellis  looked  at  her  once,  curiously;  then  Beth,  seeing 
the  glance  and  noting  Judith's  absorption,  took  her 
place    in    the    conversation.     Judith    thought    on.     If 


2  28  The  Batfief 

Jim  had  speculated,  had  ElHs  known?  Had  Ellis  led 
him  into  it?  Once  in,  did  Ellis  refuse  to  help  him? 
She  recalled  what  Mather  had  said  of  Ellis  discarding 
his  tools.  But  how  could  Jim  be  of  use  to  him,  except — 
yes ! — as  a  handle,  a  hold  on  her  through  Beth !  And 
was  this  Ellis's  method  of  bringing  Jim  into  his  power  ? 
She  heard  again  the  boy's  despairing  words:  "Who 
gave  me  the  idea?" 

She  looked  at  Ellis:  what  was  this  wild  suspicion? 
Could  it  be  true  ? 

Beth,  not  knowing  what  else  to  speak  about,  had 
made  him  talk  of  the  suggested  strike.  Ellis  had 
laughed  about  it.     There  would  be  no  strike. 

"Why,"  he  was  saying  as  Judith  looked  at  him,  "the 
air  seems  charged  with  strike-talk  sometimes,  yet 
nothing  comes  of  it.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,"  and  he 
paused  to  laugh,  "a  man  tried  blackmail  on  me  this 
afternoon.  He  was  a  fellow  I  once  had  to  do  with  when 
we  were  both  younger,  a  crank  if  ever  there  was  one. 
He  has  ideas  of  the  rights  of  the  workingman,  yet  he 
is  far  from  honest.  He  came  to  me  with  the  statement 
that  he  could  bring  on  the  strike  if  he  wished — with  his 
socialistic  talk,  you  understand.  He  wished  me  to  pay 
him  to  keep  from  haranguing  my  men." 

"Did  you  do  it  ? "  Judith  suddenly  demanded. 

"No,  no,"  he  said  lightly.  "A  mere  agitator,  he 
could  do  no  harm." 

"An  agitator?"  asked  Beth,  interested.  "Why, 
there  was  such  a  man  at  George's  mill  this  summer. 
Don't  you  remember,  Judith.  He  tried  to  bring  about 
a  strike  there.  I  wonder  if  it  was  the  same  man,  Mr. 
Ellis.     Was  his  name  Stock?" 

Judith  had  watched  steadily.  At  Beth's  first  words 
Ellis  had  changed,  hardened,  made  his  face  stone. 
But  at  the    name — did   he   not   control  a  start?     Yet 


Bfingfing  Abotrt  an  Understanding  229 

he  answered  with  indifference.  "Oh,  no.  There  are 
many  such  fellows.     It  is  quite  another  man." 

But  he  glanced  at  Judith,  and  though  he  did  it  quietly 
and  steadily,  as  once  he  had  described  his  habit  to  be, 
she  recalled  the  conversation  which  she  had  overheard, 
and  understood  it  all.  She  had  known  the  voice,  the 
husky  tones  which  became  harsh  when  raised.  She 
remembered  the  words,  the  Chebasset  job  for  which 
money  had  been  promised,  yet  which  had  failed.  And 
ElHs  had  paid — had  paid !  The  meanness,  the  whole 
base  plot,  was  revealed  to  her. 

The  servant  had  come  with  the  dessert,  but  Judith 
rose  from  her  chair;  her  face  was  white.  "I  cannot 
eat  any  more,"  she  said.     "You  must  excuse  me." 

"Is  anything "  began  her  father. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said,  and  went  into  the  parlour, 
wishing  only  to  be  alone  and  think,  to  despise  herself  at 
leisure.  Ellis  had  revealed  not  only  himself,  but  also 
her  blind  folly.  She  cast  herself  upon  the  sofa  and  put 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

Then  she  heard  his  footsteps;  he  had  followed.  He 
crossed  the  room;  she  felt  him  sit  beside  her,  and  she 
heard  his  voice.  He  spoke  gently.  "Miss  Judith — 
Judith  ! "     He  took  her  hand  to  draw  it  from  her  face. 

His  touch  was  a  disgrace,  but  she  yielded  her  hand  to 
his ;  she  wished  his  fingers  might  burn  like  fire,  to  brand 
her  punishment.  Writhing  in  spirit  as  she  felt  herself 
unclean,  for  very  scorn  would  not  resist  him. 

"Judith,"  he  repeated,  his  hope  rising,  "you  are  not 
ill?" 

"No."  She  turned  and  looked  upon  him  resolutely; 
she  would  see  once  more  this  man  whom  she  had 
admired. 

"If  anything  I  have  said,"  he  went  on,  "if  I  have — 
oh,  did  it  come  over  you  then  so  strongly  that  you 


23©  The  Battier 

left  the  table  ?  Did  you  feel  that  we  are  made  for  each 
other?" 

She  withdrew  her  hand  quickly.  "Made  for  each 
other!" 

His  face  changed,  the  eagerness  was  checked,  and  he 
said  the  conventional  words,  conventionally:  "I  love 
you." 

She  looked  into  him:  how  small  he  was!  How  cold 
his  voice,  which  should  have  been  impassioned  !  "Love 
me?"  she  asked.     "You  love  crooked  ways!" 

Slowly  he  rose.     "What  is  this?"  he  asked. 

"I  so  felt  our — sympathy,  that  I  left  the  table?  Oh, 
yes,  yes !"  Scorn  overcame  her;  again  she  hid  her  face. 
Oh,  but  to  die  from  the  strength  of  this  hatred  of 
herself ! 

She  heard  him  walk  away;  then  he  returned  and 
stood  before  her.  "I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  said. 
"I  have  been  foolish,  perhaps,  but  I  told  the  truth. 
I  do  feel  that  we  are  made  for  each  other.  Will  you 
marry  me?" 

Her  contempt  of  him  left  her;  she  loathed  only  her- 
self. All  through  this  acquaintance  he  had  been  his 
natural  man ;  it  was  she  who  had  deceived  herself.  For 
that  she  could  not  punish  him.  "I  cannot  marry  you," 
she  answered. 

His  effort  at  self-control  was  visible,  but  it  suc- 
ceeded. "I  beg,"  he  said,  "that  you  will  give  me 
time.     If  I  have  been  hasty " 

"No,"  she  said,  rising  and  facing  him.  "Mr.  Ellis,  I 
acknowledge  that  I  have  treated  you  badly;  I  am  as 
sorry  as  I  can  be.  Can  I  say  more  than  that  ?  Yes,  I 
beg  you  to  forgive  me.     But  I  can  never  marry  you." 

He  pressed  his  lips  firmly  together;  his  brows  con- 
tracted, and  he  looked  at  her  out  of  those  narrow  eyes 
which  could  control  his  subordinates  or  threaten  his 


Bringing  About  an  Understanding  231 

opponents.  But  she  met  him  with  sorrow,  not  defiance, 
and  he  could  not  understand. 

"What  has  happened ?"  he  cried.  "Yesterday — this 
very  day " 

"You  were  sure  of  me?"  she  asked.  "Rightly,  Mr. 
Ellis.     But  now  it  is  too  late. " 

"What  is  it,  then?     Has  that  fellow  Mather ?" 

"Yourself  only,"  she  interrupted.  "I  beg  you  to 
leave  me." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  longer;  then  he  left  the 
room.  But  not  the  house;  she  heard  him  go  to  the 
dining-room  and  speak  to  her  father.  Then  Beth  came 
into  the  parlour  quickly;  she  was  agitated. 

"Judith " 

"Not  now,  Beth,"  and  Beth  left  her  again. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  her  father  came;  she 
heard  his  dragging  step.  When  he  appeared  he  showed 
the  last  shreds  of  his  natural  feeling — shame  that  at 
Ellis's  order  he  should  come  to  advise  his  child. 

"Judith,"  he  began,  "Mr.  Ellis  tells  me  that — that 
you " 

**I  have  declined  to  marry  him,"  she  said. 

"Why  is  this?"  he  asked.  "It  has  seemed  so  plain 
that  you  would  take  him." 

Judith  hung  her  head.  Had  it  then  been  so  plain? 
"I  have  changed." 

"Come,"  said  the  Colonel  with  an  attempt  at  brisk- 
ness. "You  can't  mean  this.  There's  nothing  against 
Ellis  that  I  can  see." 

"Nothing?"  she  asked.  "And  you  say  that,  father? 
What  will  our  friends  say." 

"Girls  marry  out  of  their  station,"  he  urged  un- 
easily.     "We  can  bring  him  in,  Judith." 

"Father,"  she  demanded,  "what  hold  has  he  on  you, 
to  make  you  say  this  ? " 


239  The  Barrier 

"Hold ?"  he  asked.  "My  dear  child,  there  is  nothing 
of  the  sort,"  But  when  the  truth  was  thrust  directly 
at  him  the  Colonel  was  a  poor  actor. 

"There  is  something  between  you,"  Judith  said. 

"I  have  come  to  see  Mr.  Ellis  in  a  different  Hght," 
he  explained.     "That  is  all  there  is  to  it," 

"Father,"  cried  Judith,  "tell  me!" 

He  turned  away  from  her  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down,  but  she  held  his  sleeve  and  stopped  him. 

"Father!"  she  beseeched. 

He  tried  to  meet  her  eye,  and  failed;  he  looked  at  the 
carpet  and  shifted  his  feet.  But  still  he  felt  her  in- 
sistent grasp  upon  his  arm,  and  at  last  he  spoke  huskily. 

"Judith,  I  owe  him  money." 

"Oh  ! "  she  gasped,  and  fell  away  from  him.  "Father, 
what  have  you  done?"  Yet  feeling  that  she  had  not 
even  the  right  to  reproach  him,  she  said  no  more.  As 
she  stood  with  bowed  head,  he  took  courage. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "why  it  must  be." 

"Must  be?"  she  demanded.  "Oh,  father,  does  that 
make  it  inevitable?" 

"Judith,"  he  asked  her,  startled.  "Do  you  mean 
that  you — you  won't?" 

"How  much  do  you  owe  him?"  she  questioned  with 
energy. 

"Some  thousands." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  are  four  or  five  thousand? 
"We  can  sell  the  house  and  live  differently." 

He  looked  his  alarm.  "  It  is  more  than  five,"  he  said. 
"Nearer  ten  thousand." 

"The  house  is  worth  more  than  that,"  she  responded. 

"But  to  leave  this  place?"  he  objected.  "Judith, 
this  is  absurd,  unreasonable!     Where  could  we  go?" 

"Go  anywhere!"  she  answered.  "Live  as  we  must. 
Father,  you  can  work." 


Bringing  About  an  Understanding  233 

"  Work  ? "  he  gasped.     "  I— work  ? " 

"Then  I  will  support  you.     Beth  and  I." 

"No,  no!"  he  said  in  despair.  "I  couldn't  stand  it; 
I  couldn't  exist.  At  my  age;  think  of  that!"  and  his 
tone  turned  to  pleading. 

She  heard  a  footstep  at  the  threshold,  and  there  was 
Ellis.  He  entered  and  spoke  to  her.  "  I  couldn't  wait. 
Miss  Blanchard,  has  not  your  father  persuaded  you?" 

She  turned  upon  him  with  flaming  eye.  "How  did 
you  first  persuade  him?  Did  you  offer  to  release  his 
debt?" 

"So,"  he  snarled  to  the  Colonel,  "you  have  told  I" 

The  Colonel  stepped  away  from  the  venomous  gleam 
of  his  teeth.     "She  made  me,"  he  stammered. 

"Made  you!" 

"There  is  no  advantage  in  discussing  this,  Mr.  Ellis," 
said  Judith. 

"Do  not  count  it  against  me,"  he  urged  quickly. 
"Your  father  came  to  me  of  himself,  asking  for  help. 
I  did  it  for  you." 

"You  would  have  served  me  better  by  refusing.  But 
Mr.  Ellis,  the  money  shall  be  paid." 

"Paid  with  money?"  he  asked.  With  clenched 
hands  he  turned  upon  the  Colonel.     "Oh,  you  fool!" 

"  Father!  "  cried  Judith,  and  stepped  between  them 
to  restrain  the  burst  of  military  wrath  which  shotdd  cast 
Ellis  from  the  house.  But  to  her  amazement  her  father 
stood  motionless,  almost  cringing.  Then  first  she 
recognised  the  slow  degeneration  which  in  all  these 
years  had  been  going  on  beneath  the  unchanged  exterior. 
"Father ! "  she  said  again,  but  now  in  pity,  and  took  her 
place  at  his  side.  She  felt,  as  he  made  a  little  move- 
ment toward  her,  his  gratitude  for  the  protection — 
another  revelation  of  his  loss  of  manHness.  "Mr.  Ellis, 
there  is  nothing  further  to  say." 


234  The  Bartier 

"Oh,  you  have  led  me  on  to  this !"  he  cried.  "Was 
it  put  up  between  you?     Such  a  way  to  gain  money !" 

Instinctively  she  took  her  father's  arm,  to  hold  him; 
again  he  proved,  by  his  passivity,  that  his  spirit  was  all 
gone.     "Will  you  leave  us ?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"Oh!"  Ellis  cried,  shaking  with  anger  and  carried 
away.  "You  put  it  on  well !  Because  I  am  not  one  of 
you,  you  tricked  me,  then  ?  And  was  it  Mather  all  the 
time?  But  my  turn  is  coming!"  He  would  have  said 
more,  but  she  left  her  father  and  went  toward  the  door. 
Then  he  saw  how  hopelessly  he  was  cutting  himself  off 
from  her.     "Oh,  forgive  me — Judith  I     I  am  frantic." 

But  she  turned  at  the  door,  and  standing  like  an 
angry  goddess,  pointed  into  the  hallway.  "Go!"  she 
commanded. 

"Miss  Blanchard!"  he  exclaimed  in  consternation. 

"Go!" 

His  hold  on  her  was  gone  forever;  he  saw  it,  and  his 
venom  returned.  He  went  swiftly  to  her  father;  she 
did  not  hear  the  words  that  Ellis  hissed.  "I  have 
bought  up  the  mortgages  on  this  house;  you  know  they 
are  long  overdue.     Monday  I  turn  you  out ! " 

With  delight  he  saw  the  Colonel  flinch,  but  by  no 
effort  of  resolution  could  Ellis  meet  the  glance  of  the 
haughty  figure  at  the  door.  Yet  as  he  passed  her 
Judith  quailed  and  shivered,  for  by  the  same  command- 
ing gesttire  she  had  sent  Mather  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
The  Colonel  Gives  Up  His  Luxuries 

The  Colonel  pulled  himself  together.  Ellis  was  gone, 
and  relieved  from  that  oppressive  influence  Blanchard 
held  up  his  head.  He  tried  to  smile,  and  found  that  he 
succeeded  fairly  well.  He  tested  his  voice;  it  came  as 
usual,  sonorously. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  he  said,  "the  fellow's  gone." 

"Father,"  answered  Judith,  "you  and  I  have  both 
done  wrong." 

He  waved  his  hand  impatiently;  would  her  con- 
founded straightforwardness  not  let  him  forget ?  "Never 
mind." 

"Never  mind?"  she  repeated.  "Father,  we  can't 
put  this  aside  for  a  single  minute.  We  must  plan  at 
once  what  shall  be  done." 

"  You  always  were  fiery,"  he  said  indulgently.  "Well, 
go  ahead." 

"We  need  Beth,"  and  Judith  went  to  call  her  in. 
Beth  came,  white  with  apprehension,  having  heard 
tones  but  not  words,  and  feeling  rather  than  knowing 
that  there  was  trouble.  She  sought  to  learn  all  from 
one  question.     "Where  is  Mr.  Ellis?" 

"Gone,"  answered  Judith.  "He  will  not  come  here 
again." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  am  glad.     Then  why  so  grave?" 

"Mr.  Ellis,"  her  sister  said,  "has  gone  away  very 
angry,  and  father  owes  him  money."     Then  she  looked 

23s 


236  The  Baffier 

upon  the  Colonel  with  sudden  suspicion.  "Father, 
you  said  about  ten  thousand  dollars.     Was  it  more?" 

"My  dear  child,"  he  protested,  "this  matter  is  not  so 
great  as  you  suppose.  And  I  cannot  tell  you  all  of  my 
affairs." 

"Father,"  she  returned,  "for  my  sake,  if  not  for 
yours,  Mr.  Ellis  should  be  paid  at  once." 

He  rebuked  her.  "I  know  how  to  keep  our  honour 
clean.     Mr.  Ellis  shall  be  paid  at  once." 

"You  promise  that,  sir?" 

"I  do." 

"And  will  it  mean  that  we  must  sell  the  house?" 

"It  will."  The  Colonel  always  excelled  in  the  de- 
livery of  monosyllables. 

"Sell  the  house?"  gasped  Beth. 

"Come  here,  dear,"  said  Judith,  and  drew  her  to  her 
side.     "Beth,  you  have  plenty  of  courage,  I  know." 

"I  hope  so."  Pleased  by  the  unusual  caress,  Beth 
controlled  her  trembling.  "What  are  you  planning, 
Judith?" 

"We  must  entirely  change  our  way  of  life."  Judith 
looked  to  her  father  for  confirmation;  he  nodded. 
"Are  you  willing  to  work,  Beth?" 

"I  am  willing,"  was  the  confident  answer. 

"Father,"  Judith  asked,  "how  much  will  the  house 
bring?" 

"Come  here,"  he  answered.  "Let  me  tell  you  what 
we  must  do." 

He  went  to  the  sofa;  they  followed.  Beth  took  the 
place  he  indicated  at  his  side;  Judith  sat  in  a  chair. 
The  Colonel,  still  smiling,  looked  on  them  paternally, 
and  began  to  depict  in  words  his  ready  imaginings. 

"When  the  house  is  sold  and  the  debt  is  paid,"  he 
said,  "we  shall  have  left — let  me  see,  perhaps  twenty 
thousand  dollars.     I  don't  need  to  explain,"  he  inter- 


The  Colonel  Gives  Up  His  Luxuries  237 

rupted  himself  to  say,  "that  had  not  other  resources 
previously  failed  me — mismanagements  and  losses, 
dears,  not  from  my  fault — I  should  never  have  turned 
to  Mr.  Ellis  for  assistance.  No,  no;  of  course  you 
understand  that.  Therefore,  the  house  is  our  only 
source  of  capital.  Well,  twenty  thousand  left:  that 
would  mean  perhaps  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  to  house 
and  feed  and  clothe  us.  Yes,  perhaps  a  thousand." 
The  Colonel  clung  to  the  perhaps;  it  was  covering  a  lie, 
several  lies.     "You  see,  we  shall  really  be  in  difficulties." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Beth. 

The  Colonel  warmed  to  his  task.  "Now,  you  are 
both  young;  on  the  other  hand  I  am  not  old,  and  I  am 
a  soldier.  The  habit  of  courage,  girls,  I  learned  in  my 
youth.  So  we  are  well  equipped.  But,  only  a  thousand 
dollars !  That  will  pay  rent ;  perhaps  it  will  pay  for 
food.  And  our  clothes,  otu:  little  knick-knacks,  we 
must  earn  for  ourselves." 

"Shall  we  take  an  apartment?"  asked  Beth,  for 
Judith  remained  silent,  watching  her  father  intently. 
"One  of  the  new  ones  they  have  been  putting  up ? " 

"Ah,  no,"  he  said  kindly.  "They  cost  five  hundred 
a  year,  my  child.  This  must  be  something  of  an  emi- 
gration, Beth:  this  quarter  of  the  town  is  no  longer  for 
us.  But  there  are  very  respectable,  quiet  neighbour- 
hoods where  we  can  go ;  and  even  houses,  not  apartments, 
that  we  can  rent.     Does  that  dismay  you  ? " 

Beth  pressed  his  hand.     "No,  father,  no!" 

He  avoided  Judith's  steady  look,  and  smoothed 
Beth's  hair.  "Servants — I  don't  think  we  can  afford 
them.  One  of  you  two  must  do  the  housework.  Which 
shall  it  be?" 

"I!"  Beth  answered  promptly. 

"Cooking,  dishwashing,  sweeping,"  he  warned  her. 
"Are  you  really  willing?" 


238  The  Bamer 

"If  you  will  be  patient  with  my  mistakes." 

"My  dear  little  girl,  I  am  proud  of  you.  Judith,  is 
she  not  fine?"  But  still  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  the 
pleased  and  blushing  Beth.  "And  we  two  others  will 
earn  the  money." 

"I  am  sorry,"  responded  Beth.  Then  she  brightened. 
"But,  father,  need  it  be  so  bad  as  this?  You  know  so 
much  of  affairs;  you  can  command  a  good  salary  at 
once." 

"Remember,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  failed.  The 
world  has  gone  against  me.  No  one  will  have  use  for 
me.  A  clerk  or  a  bank  messenger — that  is  the  most 
I  can  look  to  be." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Beth,  shocked. 

"It  is  natural,"  he  said  with  resignation.  "And 
perhaps  Judith,  with  her  talents  and  her  typewriter, 
before  long  will  be  supporting  all  three  of  us."  For  the 
first  time  Judith  heard  his  natural  tone,  in  this  reminder 
of  his  many  Httle  flings.     "And  we  will  all  economise ! " 

"It  will  not  be  hard,"  Beth  said. 

"No,"  was  the  paternal  response,  "because  we  shall 
be  doing  it  together.  Think — some  little  four-room 
cottage.  Perhaps  not  all  the  modem  improvements, 
but  never  mind.  We  leave  you  early  in  the  morning, 
Judith  and  I ;  we  take  the  crowded  electrics  with  all  the 
other  people  going  to  their  work.  Judith  snatches  a 
few  minutes  to  go  to  a  bargain  sale;  I,  at  a  ready-made- 
clothing  store,  fit  myself  to  a  twelve-dollar  suit.  Then 
we  work  hard  all  day,  we  three — and  perhaps  it  will 
be  hardest  for  you,  Beth,  to  be  so  much  alone.  But  at 
night  we  meet  over  the  simple  meal  you  have  prepared, 
and  go  early  to  bed,  fatigued  by  our  day." 

Even  Beth  saw  how  far  this  was  from  the  Colonel's 
nature.     "Father,  it  will  be  hardest  for  you." 

"No  worse,"  he  repHed,  "than  the  Wilderness  cam- 


The  Colonel  Gives  Up  His  Ltizuries  239 

paign.  Never  you  fret,  dear;  I  can  resign  my  luxuries. 
And  if  our  friends  over  here  sometimes  speak  of  us 
with  pity,  we  shall  not  meet  them  often  enough  to  feel 
hurt  when  they  do  not  recognise  us  in  our  cheap  clothes." 

"Father,"  cried  Beth.  "Our  friends  will  stand  by 
us.     You  shall  see  !" 

"They  will  patronise  us,"  he  answered.  "Shall  we 
care  for  that?  Especially  Judith."  And  he  turned 
to  her  at  last. 

"I  can  stand  anything,"  she  replied.  "I  am  glad 
that  you  have  foreseen  all  this,  father." 

"Did  you  doubt  me?"  he  asked.  He  rose,  and  the 
girls  rose  with  him.  "But  now  I  must  go  to  my  room; 
I  must  make  a  beginning  on  my  new  Hfe.  Gk)od- 
night,  Beth.  Kiss  me.  Kiss  me,  Judith.  Dears," 
he  said,  gazing  on  them  affectionately,  "we  have  had 
little  dissensions  from  time  to  time,  but  I  promise 
never  to  quarrel  with  you  more.  No,  don't  reply;  I 
know  you  will  be  as  forbearing  toward  me.  Good- 
night; I  am  going  to  my  study."  He  went  to  the  door, 
and  paused  a  moment.  "Judith,  did  you  really  doubt 
me  ?     You  shall  see  what  I  can  do." 

Waving  them  a  final  good-night,  he  was  gone.  He 
climbed  the  stair  briskly  at  first;  then  his  step  became 
slower,  and  his  head  bowed.  In  his  study  he  sank  into 
a  chair  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  where 
the  perspiration  had  already  started  out.  That  had 
been  an  effort,  but  it  was  over,  and  now ! 

He  was  sitting  alone  in  this  little  room;  like  shadows 
his  thoughts  closed  in  on  him.  No,  he  had  not  lied;  he 
had  said  perhaps.  But  the  house  was  mortgaged  to 
its  full  value,  Ellis  held  the  mortgages,  and  the  interest 
was  long  overdue.  The  furniture  was  pledged.  Mon- 
day, owning  nothing  but  the  clothes  on  his  back,  he 
would  be  turned  into  the  street.     Judith  had  failed  him; 


340  The  Batfief 

everything  had  failed  him.  Life,  so  pleasant,  had 
played  him  false  at  last;  there  was  no  outlook  any 
more.  Slowly,  without  spirit,  consumed  with  self- 
pity,  he  took  pen  and  paper  and  began  to  write.  How 
little  there  was  to  say !  The  letter  was  finished  all  too 
soon. 

In  the  parlour  the  two  girls  sat  and  spoke  together. 
"How  brave  of  father!"  Beth  said. 

Judith  answered,  "  I  never  saw  him  less  like 
himself." 

"He  is  a  new  man,"  Beth  explained.  "He  is  setting 
us  an  example.     We  must  work,  and  be  a  credit  to  him." 

Judith's  energy  returned.  She  would  work,  she  said. 
The  typewriter  was  her  own ;  it  was  paid  for.  She  would 
apply  herself  to  master  it.  Were  they  still  rich,  even 
then  she  would  go  to  work.  She  must  occupy  herself, 
and  forget.  And  as  for  Beth,  before  long  Jim  would 
come  and  claim  her. 

Then  Judith  remembered  Mather's  note,  and  the 
trouble  deepened.  If  Jim  had  gone  wrong,  how  would 
Beth,  innocent  Beth,  bear  that?  She  stole  a  glance 
at  her  sister.     Beth  was  Hstening. 

"Father,  is  that  you?"  she  called. 

The  Colonel's  voice  answered  from  the  hall.  "I  just 
came  down  for  something."  They  heard  him  go  up- 
stairs  again. 

"He  came  down  very  quietly,"  said  Beth.  "I  heard 
him  in  the  back  parlour.  Poor  father !  He  is  very 
brave." 

Then  both  sat  silent,  thinking.  "We  have  good 
blood,"  said  Judith  at  last  with  a  tremor  of  pride  in 
her  voice.  "We  will  show  we  are  not  afraid  of  what 
may  happen." 

"Yes,"  Beth  answered.     " — Hush,  what  was  that?" 

"I  heard  nothing,"  Judith  said. 


The  G>IoneI  Gives  Up  His  Luxuries  241 

Beth's  eyes  grew  larger  as  she  sat  rigid.  "It  was  a 
groan,"  she  whispered.     "Listen!" 

Then  they  both  heard  it,  unmistakable,  coming  from 
the  floor  above.  They  started  up,  but  stood  in  fear, 
questioning  each  other  with  their  eyes.  Again  it  came, 
but  feebler,  like  a  deep  sigh. 

"Father!"  cried  Judith,  and  hastened  to  the  stairs. 
Up  they  hurried;  they  were  breathless  when  they 
reached  t^e  study  door.     There  they  halted,  transfixed. 

The  Colonel  had  finished  his  letter;  it  lay  on  the 
desk  by  his  side.  He  reclined  in  the  easy-chair  as  if 
asleep,  but  from  his  breast  stood  out  the  handle  of  the 
Japanese  knife. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
In  Which  Judge  Harmon  Enters  the  Story 

Judith  stood  waiting  at  the  telephone;  at  the  Club 
the  waiter  had  gone  to  fetch  Mather.  How  slow  he 
was  in  coming  !  How  tired  she  felt !  The  wires  sang 
in  her  ears;  she  heard  faint  voices  speaking  indistinctly; 
she  had  a  dull  consciousness  of  surrounding  space,  of 
connection  with  far-off  spheres,  out  of  which  those 
voices  rose,  whispered,  almost  became  articulate,  then 
died  away  to  let  the  humming  of  the  spheres  begin 
again.   Then  some  man  said  loud  and  briskly:    "Hello  ! " 

"I  am  using  the  line,"  said  Judith. 

The  man  begged  her  pardon  and  drifted  across  the 
Styx,  from  whose  dim  territory  a  tinkling  voice  spoke 
complainingly  for  a  while,  then  faded  away.  The 
buzzing  in  the  wires  increased  the  confusion  in  her  head, 
and  Judith,  very,  very  weary,  found  herself  clinging  to 
the  instrument  lest  she  should  fall.  With  a  strong 
effort  she  regained  her  self-control. 

Then  she  heard  in  the  telephone  sounds  as  of  distant 
heavy  strokes  of  metal ;  they  grew  louder,  then  the  wire 
clicked.     Mather  spoke:  "Hello!" 

"Oh,  George  I"  she  gasped.  His  voice  was  calm, 
quiet,  perfectly  modulated,  as  if  he  stood  there  at  her 
side.  She  released  her  hold  on  the  instrument;  with 
him  talking  so  to  her  she  could  stand  alone. 

"That  is  you,  Judith?     Jim  is  there?" 

"Jim?"     She  had  forgotten  him.     "Oh,  no." 

"Then  can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 
242 


In  Which  Judge  Harmon  Enters  the  Story     243 

"Something  has  happened  here,"  she  said,  "to — to 
father.  He  left  a  letter  addressed  to  you  and  Mr. 
Pease." 

"Left  a  letter?"      She  heard  the  change  in  his  voice. 

"Tell  no  one,  please,"  she  begged.  "We  telephoned 
for  Mr.  Pease  and  learned  that  he  is  at  Judge  Harmon's ; 
Beth  has  gone  there  for  him.  Can  you  come?  At 
once,   George  ? " 

" Instantly,"  he  answered.     "That  is  all ? " 

"All.     Good-bye." 

She  heard  him  hang  up  his  receiver.  In  her  turn  she 
left  the  telephone,  and  stronger  in  the  knowledge  that 
he  was  coming  she  began  to  pace  the  room.  Pease  too 
was  coming;  Beth  would  bring  him  soon. 

But  Pease,  who  had  started  for  the  Judge's,  had 
turned  aside  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  when  he  saw  Ellis 
waiting  in  the  vestibule.  Pease,  telUng  himself  that  he 
covdd  return,  had  gone  away  half  an  hour  before,  and 
all  who  had  entered  the  Harmon  house  that  evening 
were  ElUs  and  Jim  Wayne. 

Jim  had  come  first — a  wild,  dishevelled  Jim.  He  had 
wandered  a  good  deal  that  day,  after  first  leaving 
Chebasset  in  the  morning  and  next  spending  much  time 
at  a  ticker.  He  had  not  been  home;  he  had  not  eaten, 
he  had  given  Mather  the  shp  a  couple  of  times,  and  his 
moods  had  varied  from  fear  to  bold  resolution,  and  then 
to  sullen  despair.  But  since  in  the  light  fluids  of  his 
nature  hope  easily  beat  up  its  accustomed  surface- 
froth,  he  arrived  at  the  Harmons'  in  a  more  cheerful 
mood,  looking  for  the  coming  of  Ellis  to  relieve  him  of 
the  consequences  of  his  folly.  When  Mrs.  Harmon  had 
drawn  the  portieres,  and  had  begun  to  tell  him  how 
untidy  he  was,  he  explained  matters  with  a  laugh. 

"Been  sitting  over  my  accounts,"  he  said.  "Forgot 
to  brush  my  hair,  did  I?     Here's  a  mirror;  just  look 


344  'I'bs  Barrier 

away  a  moment,  Mrs.  Harmon,  please,  while  I " 

He  began  to  arrange  his  hair  with  his  fingers. 

But  she  watched  him.  "I  can't  lose  a  chance  to  see 
a  man  prink,"  she  said.  "Tell  me  about  the  accounts, 
Mr.  Wayne." 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  cried,  "there's  one  item  I  for- 
got to  put  down  !     Just  like  me ;  and  so  important,  too  ! " 

"What  is  it?"  she  inquired. 

"The  item,  or  the  cost?" 

"Both.     Tell  me." 

He  set  a  condition.  "One  or  the  other,  choose. 
Wait!"  He  went  to  his  overcoat,  which  he  had  flung 
upon  a  chair,  and  drew  a  box  from  the  pocket.  "Now 
choose,"  he  directed,  holding  up  the  box. 

"Oh,"  she  pouted,  "that  is  one  of  Price's  boxes. 
I  can't  know  the  cost  if  I  am  to  see  what  you've  bought. 
You'll  show  it  to  me,  won't  you?" 

"You  would  like  to  see  it  ?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then  open  it,"  he  said,  giving  her  the  box.  "It's 
for  you." 

"For  me?"  and  she  opened  the  little  case.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Wayne,  a  locket !  What  good  taste  you  have — 
oh,  and  I  didn't  see  the  chain!"  Then  she  regarded 
him  reproachfully.  "Now,  Jim,  you  know  you  really 
mustn't." 

"Always  call  me  Jim !"  he  directed.  "Why  mustn't 
I?" 

"Because  you  can't  afford  it." 

"I  can!"  he  asserted.  "At  least,  I  could  when  I 
bought  it.     I  was  three  thousand  to  the  good  then." 

"Indeed?"  she  thought,  "and  what  happened  later?" 
Deciding  that  possession  was  worth  securing,  she 
snapped  the  chain  around  her  neck.  "And  so  you  have 
had  a  very  lucky  day  ? " 


In  Which  Judge  Harmon  Enters  the  Story     245 

"Well,"  explained  Jim,  "there  was  a  steady  rise  at 
first.  But  then  there  came  a  couple  of  flurries,  and  the 
bottom  dropped  out  of  everything  I  held." 

"And  you  lost  much?" 

"No,  no,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  was  watching;  I  got 
out  at  once.  I'm  not  so  very  badly  off,  and  ElUs  said 
he'd  help  me  straighten  matters.  He's  coming  here 
this  evening." 

She  was  much  relieved,  but  covered  her  feeling  by 
coquetting.     "So  that  is  all  you  came  here  for?" 

"That  isn't  fair,"  cried  Jim.  "Didn't  I  bring  the 
locket?  Now  Mrs.  Harmon!"  He  tried  to  take  her 
hand.     After  some  resistance  on  her  part,  he  succeeded. 

Holding  that  plump  and  somewhat  large  assembly  of 
digits,  from  which  no  manicurist  had  as  yet  been  able 
to  remove  the  fresh  bright  pink  reminding  of  its  earHer 
uses  (for  Mrs.  Harmon  had  once  done  her  sewing  and 
washed  her  own  clothes) — holding  that  hand,  Jim  felt 
•more  agitation  than  when  he  first  held  Beth's.  And 
though  he  looked  into  wide-open  eyes,  which  met  his 
without  a  tremor  of  their  lids  or  a  suggestion  of  a  down- 
ward glance,  Jim  was  more  thrilled  than  by  the  sweet 
confusion  Beth  so  oft  discovered,  even  to  her  accepted 
lover.  This  was  rare;  it  quickened  his  blood;  he  was 
preparing  to  taste  the  ruby  of  those  lips,  when  into  his 
consciousness  came  the  clang  of  the  door-bell,  which 
was  of  the  good  old-fashioned  kind.  Before  the  noise 
had  well  begun,  Mrs.  Harmon  had  withdrawn  her  hand 
and  placed  a  chair  between  herself  and  her  admirer, 
whose  ardent  glance  had  proclaimed  his  intention 
with  such  distinctness  that  (combined  with  the  door- 
bell) it  had  alarmed  her  modesty.  And  although  Jim, 
calculating  that  the  servant  could  not  reach  the  door 
for  half  a  minute,  pursued  and  begged  her  not  to  be 
so  cruel,  she  laughed  at  him  and  maintained  her  dis- 


346  The  Barrier 

tance  until  in  the  hall  were  heard  the  rustle  of  the 
maid's  skirts  and  then  the  opening  of  the  front  door. 
Jim  was  so  disgusted  that  even  the  appearance  of  Ellis 
did  not  at  first  recall  him  to  a  willing  obedience  of  the 
laws  of  propriety.  But  when  Ellis,  from  an  abrupt 
entrance,  as  abruptly  halted  and  fixed  him  with  a 
scowl,  Jim  came  back  to  himself. 

"Oh,"  said  Ellis,  "I  had  forgot  you." 

"I — I  don't  want  to  trouble  you,  Mr.  Ellis,"  replied 
Jim. 

"But  you'd  like  some  four,  five,  six  thousand  to  help 
you  out,  hey?  That's  what  you've  been  waiting  here 
for?" 

"You  said  you'd  help  me,  sir." 

Ellis  turned  his  unchanged  scowl  on  Mrs.  Harmon, 
"Better  drop  him,  Lydia,"  he  said.  "He's  an  eternal 
fool." 

"Stephen,"  she  cried  indignantly,  "have  you  lost 
money,  too  ?  More  than  he  has,  I'm  sure."  He  sneered, 
and  she  added,  "Something's  gone  wrong  with  you, 
then,  to  make  you  so  rude." 

His  frown  became  blacker  still ;  he  had  been  walking 
the  streets,  and  came  here  in  the  hope  of  distraction 
only  to  be  reminded  of  Judith.  "Hold  your  tongue, 
Lydia,"  he  said  roughly.  Then  he  surveyed  Jim  once 
more.  "You  little  fool,  get  out  of  your  scrape  by 
yourself!"  Grasping  his  hat  as  if  he  would  crush  its 
brim,  he  turned  to  go. 

"Don't  come  again,  Stephen,"  she  flung  after  him, 
"until  you've  found  your  temper." 

Yet  the  last  glimpse  of  Ellis,  as  he  departed,  gave 
distress  to  poor  Jim.  "Why,"  he  said  helplessly,  as  the 
outer  door  closed.  "Why,  Mrs.  Harmon,  he — he  said 
he'd  help  me!" 

But  such  common  preoccupations  as  money-difficulties 


In  Which  Judgfc  Harmon  Enters  the  Story     247 

were,  at  this  moment,  foreign  to  Mrs.  Harmon's  mood. 
Jim  had  stirred  her  blood,  she  was  glad  that  Ellis  had 
gone.  Now  she  moved  nearer  to  the  young  man,  so 
that  the  space  between  them  was  free.  "Never  mind," 
she  said  lightly. 

"Never  mind?"  repeated  Jim.     "But  Mrs.  Harmon, 

I've "     No,  he  couldn't  tell  her.     Yet  what  should 

he  do? 

"Leave  business  for  the  daytime,"  she  said.  "For- 
get the  mill;  forget  the  office."     She  came  nearer  still. 

Jim  hung  his  head.  Mather  was  after  him  surely; 
and  what  could  he  say  to  his  mother  ? 

"Stephen  will  come  round,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon. 
"Leave  him  to  me." 

"Oh,"  cried  Jim,  "you  will  help  me?  Just  a  little, 
Mrs.  Harmon?  " 

"Why  should  I?"  she  asked  archly.  She  was  very 
close  now,  and  was  looking  in  his  eyes. 

"For  our  friendship,"  he  answered. 

"Friendship!"  she  repeated.  Her  tone  roused  him; 
he  looked,  and  her  glance  kindled  his.  "Only  friend- 
ship ? "  she  asked  softly. 

"Oh !"  he  breathed,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

Again  came  the  cursed  interruption  of  the  jangling 
door-bell.  "You  shall  not  go!"  he  said,  holding  her 
fast.  She  murmured,  "I  do  not  wish  to."  They  stood 
motionless,  and  heard  the  servant  pass  through  the 
hall  and  open  the  front  door.  They  listened,  ready  to 
spring  apart. 

"The  Judge?"  the  servant  asked.  "Yes,  in  his 
study.  This  way."  Again  the  footsteps  and  the 
rustling  skirt  passed  the  door.  The  two  in  the  parlour 
waited  until  the  door  of  the  Judge's  study  opened  and 
shut.  Then  Jim  lowered  his  head  upon  the  one  that 
nestled  at  his  shoulder. 


248  The  Bamer 

"At  last !"  he  whispered.     And  their  lips  met. 

But  Beth  was  in  the  Judge's  study.  Behind  his 
table  sat  the  old  man — no,  not  so  very  old,  in  years 
only  sixty,  but  he  carried  them  ill.  A  life  of  labour 
among  books,  a  disappointment  in  his  wife,  made  him 
seem  ten  years  older  than  he  was.  The  Judge  never 
exercised,  was  sometimes  short  of  breath  and  dizzy, 
but  was  at  all  times  scornful  of  the  wisdom  of  doctors. 
His  face  was  naturally  stem,  yet  a  smile  came  on  it 
when  he  saw  Beth.  He  rose,  adjusted  a  different  pair 
of  glasses,  and  then  saw  the  distress  on  her  countenance. 

"Why,  Beth  ! "  he  exclaimed.     "Is  anything  wrong  ? " 

"Is  Mr.  Pease  not  here?"  she  asked  in  return. 

"Pease.?     No,  he  has  not  been  here." 

"His  cousin  said,"  explained  Beth,  "that  he  was 
coming  here.  And  so  I  came  at  once,  since  you  have 
no  telephone.  Father — oh,  Judge  Harmon,  my  father 
has  killed  himself!" 

The  Judge  turned  white.  "Killed?"  He  put  his 
hand  to  his  breast.  "My  dear  child!  My  poor  Beth! 
Killed  himself?     Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !" 

"There  is  nothing  to  do,"  said  Beth  with  admirable 
calmness.  "But  he  left  a  letter  directed  to  Mr.  Mather 
and  Mr.  Pease." 

"Mr.  Pease  is  not  here,"  the  Judge  repeated,  much 
distressed.  "Let  me  bring  you  home  again. — But  your 
Mr.  Wayne  was  here  earlier.  Perhaps  he  is  still  in  the 
parlour  with  my  wife." 

"Jim  here?"  cried  Beth,  springing  to  the  door. 
"Oh,  I  hope  he  is!"  Hastily  she  left  the  study,  sped 
along  the  hall,  and  parted  the  parlour  curtains.  There 
were  Jim  and  Mrs.  Harmon,  in  the  growing  fierceness 
of  their  first  embrace.  Beth  saw  how  eagerly  they 
strained  together,  and  heard  their  panting  breaths. 

She  stood  still  and  made  no  sound,  but  her  senses 


In  Which  Judge  Harmon  Entets  the  Story     249 

noted  everything:  Jim's  hand  that  pressed  on  Mrs. 
Harmon's  shoulder,  her  closed  eyes,  her  hands  linked 
behind  his  neck — and  his  sudden  movement  as  he  shifted 
his  arm,  only  to  press  her  closer.  And  still  that  clinging 
kiss  continued,  ecstatic,  terrible.  Beth  could  not  move, 
could  scarcely  breathe,  until  behind  her  rose  the  Judge's 
cracked  and  horror-stricken  voice. 

"Lydia!" 

Hurriedly  they  disengaged  and  stood  apart — moist 
lips,  hot  cheeks,  and  burning  eyes  still  giving  evidence 
of  their  passion.  Then  Mrs,  Harmon  dropped  her  face 
into  her  hands  and  turned  away,  but  Jim  gazed  with 
mounting  shame  into  the  eyes  that  met  his — met  while 
yet  they  showed  Beth's  detestation  of  him.  And  the 
Judge  stood  quiet,  his  hand  pressed  to  his  breast,  his 
breath  stopped,  his  head  confused  with  the  noises  that 
roared  in  his  ears. 

At  last  Beth  moved.  Slowly  she  put  her  hands 
together;  her  eyes  showed  more  of  indignation,  less  of 
loathing.  She  drew  her  hands  apart  and  held  out  to 
him  the  right — not  with  fingers  upward,  beckoning,  but 
palm  downward,  fingers  closed  together.  Then  she 
opened  them.  The  golden  circlet  fell,  its  diamond 
flashing;  it  bounded  on  the  rug,  and  rolled;  it  stopped  at 
Mrs.  Harmon's  feet.  She,  looking  downward  through 
her  fingers,  wondering  at  the  silence,  saw,  and  started 
away  with  a  cry. 

Then  Beth  turned  her  back  on  Jim,  and  went  away. 
The  old  Judge  followed,  dazed,  and  the  curtains  fell 
behind  them. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 
In  Which  Judge  Harmon  Leaves  the  Story 

The  Judge  opened  the  street-door  for  Beth,  and 
seemed  to  be  preparing  to  follow  her  out.  In  spite  of 
all  she  had  gone  through,  perhaps  because  of  it,  her 
mind  was  alive  to  little  things,  and  she  saw  that  he 
was  dazed.  "You're  not  coming  with  me,  sir?  And 
without  your  coat?" 

*'  I  was  going  with  you,  was  I  not  ? "  he  asked.  "  But 
I — I've  forgotten.     Can  you  find  your  way  alone  ?" 

**0h,  yes,"  she  said.  "You  must  not  come.  Go  in, 
sir."  As  if  mechanically,  he  obeyed  her,  and  shut  the 
door.     Beth  went  down  the  steps. 

But  the  Judge  seemed  still  confused.  Slowly,  very 
slowly  he  entered  the  hall.  He  went  to  the  great  chair 
that  stood  opposite  the  parlour  door,  and  sat  in  it.  His 
breath  still  came  with  difficulty,  his  head  was  buzzing; 
he  could  not  remember  what  had  happened.  Then, 
raising  his  head,  he  looked  through  the  portieres,  which 
he  and  Beth  had  parted  slightly,  into  the  parlour. 
He  saw,  he  remembered,  and  his  heart  gave  a  great  leap 
in  his  breast. 

So  long  as  they  heard  voices  at  the  door,  Mrs.  Harmon 
and  Jim  had  stood  listening.  But  when  the  indistinct 
tones  ceased,  and  the  door  shut,  they  looked  at  each 
other. 

"They've  both  gone!"  Jim  said.  But  they  listened 
a  moment  longer.  The  slow  footsteps  of  the  Judge,  as 
he  made  his  way  over  the  heavy  rugs,  were  inaudible. 

250 


In  "Which  Judge  Harmon  Leaves  the  Story     251 

Jim  held  his  hands  out  to  her  again,  but  she  pointed 
to  the  ring  upon  the  floor. 

"Trouble  for  you!" 

He  picked  up  the  ring.  "Trouble  for  both  of  us," 
he  responded  gloomily. 

"Worst  for  you,"  she  repUed.     "What  shall  you  do  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"Oh!"  and  she  stamped  her  foot.  "How  stupid  of 
us  I  It  was  all,  at  last,  just  as  we  wished  it.  It  could 
have  gone  on,  nobody  knowing.  Now — oh,  I  am 
furious!" 

"You  mean,"  he  asked,  "that  you  would  have  let  it 
go  on  as  we  were  ? " 

"Yes." 

"Meeting  only  once  in  a  while  ? " 

"Of  course!" 

"And  that  would  have  satisfied  you?" 

"Satisfied?  No,  Jim.  But  that  would  be  all  we 
could  have." 

"Then  I  am  glad  we  were  seen!"  he  cried.  "I 
couldn't  have  gone  on  that  way.  Now  we  shall  have 
to  act." 

' '  Act  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"This,"    answered    Jim.     "Everything    has    got    to 

stop  for  me,  anyivay.     I'm — I'm  in  trouble.     Ellis " 

and  he  stopped  to  curse. 

"Don't,  don't!"  she  begged  him.  "Explain;  I  don't 
understand." 

"He  led  me  into  it,"  said  Jim.  "He  suggested  it  all: 
how  I  could  take  the  money  they  send  to  the  mill  every 
Saturday  for  the  men's  pay,  how  I  could  get  my  mother's 
power  of  attorney,  and  use  her  securities.  I  never 
should  have  thought  of  it  but  for  him — never ! " 

"You  mean,"  asked  Mrs.  Harmon,  "that  you  have 
done  those  things  ? " 


252  The  Baffict 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "I  wanted  to  please  you,  to  give 
you  things,  and  have  money." 

She  turned  partly  away  from  him,  and  stood  looking 
down.  Jim  came  to  her  side.  "But  we  don't  care,  do 
we,  Lydia  ? "     He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

She  moved  away  quickly.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Ellis  won't  help  me.  Mather  is  after  me.  I've  got 
to  go  away — ^go  away  this  very  night.  Lydia,  come 
with  me ! " 

"Mr.  Wayne,"  she  began  slowly. 

"No;  call  me  Jim!" 

"You  poor  Jim,  then.     I  can't  do  this." 

"  Why  ? "  he  stammered.     "I  thought  you  loved  me ? ' 

"So  I  do.  So  I  will,  if  you'll  stay  here  and  let  things 
go  on  as  they  were." 

"Haven't  I  shown  you  I  can't?" 

"It  can  be  hushed  up." 

"No,  no!"  he  cried  in  despair.  "And  I  can't  face 
people;  everybody  will  know.  Lydia,  come  with  me!" 
He  neared  her  again,  stretching  out  his  arms;  as  she 
sought  to  avoid  him,  he  strode  to  her  side  and  caught 
her.  "Come,  come!  I  can't  give  you  up."  He 
crushed  her  to  him  and  began  kissing  her  eagerly. 

But  she  resisted  with  sudden  energy.  "Let  me  go! 
Shall  I  call  the  servants  ? "  He  released  her  in  astonish- 
ment; angrily  she  moved  away  from  him,  smoothing 
hei-  dress.  "I  believe  you're  a  fool  after  all,  as  Mr. 
Ellis  said." 

"Lydia!" 

"I  am  Mrs.  Harmon,"  she  returned.  "If  you  won't 
make  a  fight  for  yourself,  you're  not  the  man  I  thought 
you.     Go  away,  then,  but  not  with  me." 

"Then  you  don't  love  me  ? " 

"Boy!"  she  said,  growing  scornful.  "Love?  What 
is  love  but  convenience?" 


In  Which  Judge  Harmon  Leaves  the  Stofy     253 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  "come!  You  must  come  with  me. 
See,  I  have  money.  Seven,  eight  hundred,  I  think. 
That  will  last  a  long  time.  We  can  go  somewhere;  I 
can  get  work;  no  one  will  find  us." 

"And  that,"  she  asked,  "is  all  you  offer?  Eight 
hundred  dollars,  and  a  life  in  hiding  !" 

He  began  to  understand,  this  poor  Jim,  but  it  was 
too  much  to  grasp  all  at  once.  "You're  fooling  me, 
aren't  you?  Don't;  I  can't  bear  it.  Say  you'll  come 
with  me!"  Beseeching  her  with  open  arms,  he  went 
toward  her  so  eagerly  that  to  avoid  him  she  slipped 
around  the  table  and  went  to  the  door.  Then  as  she 
looked  back  at  him,  awkwardly  pursuing,  she  saw  him 
as  she  had  never  seen  him  before.  He  had  rumpled  his 
hair  again:  none  but  a  manly  head  looks  well  when 
mussed.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  mouth  open; 
she  turned  away  in  disgust,  and  looked  into  the  hallway 
to  measure  her  retreat. 

There  she  saw  her  husband  sitting,  upright  in  his 
chair.  With  a  sudden  movement  she  threw  the  curtains 
wide  apart  and  revealed  him  to  Jim.  "See,"  she  said, 
"I  have  a  protector.     Now  will  you  leave  me?" 

A  protector !  Jim,  at  first  startled,  saw  the  open 
mouth,  the  glazing  eyes.  He  pointed,  gasping;  she 
saw  and  was  frightened.  In  three  steps  she  was  at  her 
husband's  side ;  she  grasped  his  arm.  He  was  dead ! 
Then  she  recovered  herself.  The  doctor  had  said  this 
might  happen. 

"He  is — ^is "   hesitated  Jim.     "Oh,   come  back 

here ;  shut  it  out ! " 

"I  shall  call  the  servants,"  she  answered.  "You  had 
better  go." 

"Go?  And  you  are  free!  Lydia,"  he  cried  in  de- 
spair, "for  the  last  time,  come  with  me  ! " 

Cold  and  steady,  she  returned  the  proper  response. 


254  The  Battict 

"And  you  ask  me  that  in  his  dead  presence  I  Free, 
when  his  death  claims  my  duty  to  him?  Go  with  you, 
when  I  should  stay  and  mourn  him  ? " 

Had  she  opened  her  breast  and  shown  him  a  heart  of 
stone,  she  could  not  better  have  revealed  her  nature. 
It  was  to  Jim  as  if  the  earth  had  yawned  before  his  feet, 
showing  rottenness  beneath  its  flowers.  That  eye  of 
ice,  that  hard  mouth,  those  blasphemous  words !  Jim 
did  not  know,  he  never  could  remember,  how  he  got 
himself  from  the  house. 

He  fled  by  night  from  the  pursuit  that  never  was  to 
be.  Taking  the  New  York  train,  he  lay  in  his  berth, 
thinking,  dozing,  thinking  again,  while  the  train  sped 
through  the  darkness.  He  slept  and  dreamed  of 
burning  kisses;  he  woke  to  feel  the  swaying  of  the  car, 
to  hear  the  whistle  scream,  or,  shutting  out  all  other 
sounds,  to  strain  his  ears  for  noises  close  at  hand — the 
rustling  of  the  curtains  or  the  soft  footfall  of  the  porter. 
He  slept  again,  and  from  a  nightmare  in  which  a  serpent 
coiled  about  him,  he  came  to  himself  in  a  quiet  station, 
where  steam  hissed  steadily,  where  hurrying  steps 
resounded,  where  trucks  rumbled  by,  and  voices  were 
heard  giving  orders.  He  looked  from  his  berth  along 
the  curtained  aisle — ^what  misery  besides  his  own  was 
hiding  behind  those  hangings?  Then  he  dozed  again 
with  the  motion  of  the  train,  and  saw  Beth,  far  removed 
and  wonderfully  pure,  looking  down  on  him  with  horror; 
his  dream  changed  and  Mrs.  Harmon  stood  at  his  side, 
leading  a  walking  corpse.  And  then  he  started  from 
sleep  with  a  smothered  shriek,  and  with  his  thoughts 
urged  the  train  to  go  faster,  faster  away  from  Beth,  from 
that  temptress,  from  the  friends  he  had  betrayed  and 
the  mother  whom  he  had  robbed. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 
Judith  Binds  Herself 

Judith  was  alone,  waiting  for  Mather,  and  wrestling 
with  the  question  which  at  the  discovery  of  her  father's 
body  had  rushed  upon  her.     Was  his  death  her  fault  ? 

Had  she  accepted  Ellis,  or  had  she  recalled  her  refusal 
when  her  father  begged  her,  the  Colonel  would  now  be 
living.  She  might  have  guessed  the  desperate  resolve 
that  he  had  taken.  What  would  have  been  her  duty,  had 
she  understood  ?  Or  what  should  she  have  done,  had 
he  appealed  to  her?  And  not  understanding,  not 
having  foreseen,  how  much  was  her  fault  ? 

There  was  here  a  chance  for  speculation  to  drive  a 
weaker  woman  wild.  But  Judith  had  not  the  nature 
to  yield  to  such  a  danger.  Essentially  combative, 
naturally  active,  her  habit  was  to  put  the  past  behind, 
accept  the  present,  and  look  the  future  in  the  face. 
This  instinct  stood  by  her  now,  and  even  though  her 
shuddering  mind  still  dwelt  upon  the  catastrophe,  some- 
thing within  her  called  her  to  stand  up,  control  herself, 
look  forward.  And  one  more  mental  trait,  which  was 
in  some  respects  the  great  defect  in  her  character — 
namely  her  almost  masculine  fashion  of  judging  herself 
and  others — here  stood  her  in  good  stead,  and  served 
her  by  showing  her  father's  action  in  the  proper  light. 

Though  she  perceived  that  she  had  led  him  into  this 
entanglement,  she  saw  more.  The  Colonel  had  had  not 
only  his  own  but  also  his  wife's  fortune:  where  had  the 
money  gone?     Strong  as  were  Judith's  grief  and  pity 

255 


256  The  Barriet 

for  him,  abundantly  as  she  acknowledged  her  part  in  his 
error,  she  could  not  fail  to  see  how  selfish  had  been  his 
actions,  how  cowardly  this  desertion  ! 

But  remembering  her  own  great  error,  she  could  not 
blame.  How  deeply  they  had  both  been  at  fault !  She 
began  to  sympathise  with  the  Colonel's  mistakes,  to 
understand  him  better,  to  wish  that  in  their  relations 
they  had  not  been  so  aloof.  He  must  have  been  many 
times  in  doubt,  pain,  the  deepest  of  trouble,  and  she  had 
never  suspected.  Judith  began  to  be  stirred  by  more 
daughterly  feelings  than  since  childhood ;  her  grief  and 
pity  grew  stronger,  unavailing  regret  seized  her,  and 
when  George  Mather  arrived  he  found  her  in  tears. 

He  had  never  imagined  such  a  sight,  nor  had  he  met 
such  sweet  dignity  as  that  with  which,  controlling  her- 
self, she  rose  and  welcomed  him.  She  told  him  of  her 
father's  death.  Mather  had  not  admired  the  Colonel ;  he 
was  not  surprised  at  such  a  weak  end;  and  while  she 
spoke  all  his  senses  dwelt  on  her — on  the  wonderful  fresh 
charm,  which,  springing  from  the  new  humility,  made 
more  of  a  woman  of  her.  Stoically  but  stupidly  he 
paced  the  room,  remembering  that  he  was  not  there  to 
consider  himself,  but  to  do  what  he  could  for  her. 
There  were  things  which  must  be  done;  as  gently  as 
he  could  he  reminded  her  of  them,  and  going  to  the 
telephone  called  up  the  doctor  and  asked  him  to  bring 
the  medical  examiner.  And  while  Mather  did  this, 
cursing  himself  that  he  could  not  console  her,  all  the 
time  a  new  sensation  was  occupying  her — the  comfort  of 
having,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  a  man  to  depend  on. 

Then  Beth  arrived,  with  Pease  who  had  met  her  in 
the  street — Beth,  wild  of  eye,  the  very  foundations  of 
her  nature  shocked,  in  one  evening  twice  betrayed. 
The  poor  little  thing  still  maintained  a  false  composure, 
checked  from  time  to  time  the  tears  that  would  spring, 


Judith  Finds  Herself  257 

and  fought  with  all  her  force  against  the  thoughts 
which  were  ready  to  engulf  her.  She  went  straight  to 
Judith  and  rested  at  her  side,  feeling  that  there  was 
strength,  and  that  with  George  in  the  house,  and  with 
Pease  there,  silent  and  steady,  no  more  harm  could  come 
to  her. 

Judith  sent  the  two  men  to  her  father's  study,  where 
they  saw  the  evidence  of  his  one  resolute  deed.  They 
took  the  letter,  the  result  of  his  only  wise  one.  Again 
in  the  parlour,  they  opened  and  read  the  letter  together; 
their  brows  clouded  as  they  read,  and  at  the  end  their 
eyes  met  in  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"Read  it  aloud,"  demanded  Judith. 

"I  think  we  had  better,"  said  Pease,  and  Mather 
assented.  And  so  the  girls  learned  the  full  extent  of 
their  calamity,  for  with  unusual  brevity  the  Colonel 
had  written: 

"  I  have  nothing  left,  not  a  stock  nor  a  bond.  The 
furniture  is  mortgaged,  so  is  the  house;  Ellis,  through  brokers 
I  suppose,  has  bought  me  up  completely  and  threatens  to  turn 
me  out  on  Monday.  He  can  do  it;  besides,  I  owe  him  fifteen 
thousand  dollars.  The  girls  don't  own  anything  but  their 
clothes  and  knick-knacks,  and  Judith's  typewriter. 

"  I  don't  see  any  way  out  of  this,  and  I'm  tired  of  thinking. 
You  two  are  young  and  clever;  I  txim  the  problem  over  to 
you. 

"  Take  care  of  my  girls." 

And  with  these  words  the  Colonel  had  handed  his 
burden  over  to  others.  Tears  sprang  to  Beth's  eyes  as  she 
understood.  It  was  natural  that  even  so  soon  his  selfish- 
ness should  force  itself  to  notice.  Ah,  if  men  could  but 
guide  themselves  by  the  consideration  of  what  will  be 
thought  of  them  after  they  are  gone,  how  different  would 
be  their  lives !     Not  the  religion  man  professes,  nor  even 


as8  The  Bamet 

the  love  he  actually  bears,  can  teach  him  to  overcome 
caprice  or  to  sink  himself  in  others.  Yet  since  it  may 
be  that  the  punishment  after  death  is  to  see  ourselves 
as  others  see  us,  let  us  not  belabour  the  poor  Colonel 
with  words,  but  leave  him  in  that  purgatory  where  the 
mirror  of  souls  will  teach  self -understanding. 

Judith  was  stunned.  The  real  meaning  of  her 
father's  statements  came  upon  her  like  a  blow,  the  room 
vanished  from  before  her  eyes,  and  she  clutched  the  arm 
of  the  sofa  where  she  sat,  to  keep  from  falling.  The 
house  mortgaged !  The  furniture  pledged !  And  the 
great  debt  besides !     The  calamity  overpowered  her. 

"Judith!"  cried  Mather  in  alarm. 

She  groped  with  her  hands  before  her  face  and  cleared 
the  mist  away.  "It  is  nothing,"  she  said.  "I  am — 
strong." 

"I  hope,"  said  Pease,  "that  you  will  let  Mr.  Mather 
and  me  assume  your  father's  trust." 

"Tell  me  this,"  Judith  requested,  trying  to  command 
her  voice.  'We  have  no  property  at  all — none  at  all. 
But  there  is  that  debt  to  Mr.  Ellis.  What  is  my  liabiUty 
to  him?" 

"Nothing  whatever,"  Pease  replied. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  said.  "I — I  am  re- 
sponsible. If  the  debt  were  small,  I  should  wish  to  earn 
the  money  to  pay  it.  And  though  it  is  large,  I  think  I 
ought  to  try  to  do  the  same." 

"Impossible!"  cried  Pease.  Judith  listened  while 
he  protested  and  explained,  but  the  matter  became  no 
clearer.  Her  own  great  fault  had  brought  all  this  about : 
the  debt  was  hers.    She  tried  to  make  him  comprehend. 

"I "  she  said,  and  faltered.     "There  are  things 

you  do  not  know." 

"Judith,"  began  Mather,  "first  let  me  understand, 
Mr.  Ellis  broke  with  your  father  ? " 


Judith.  Finds  Herself  259 

"And  with  me,"  she  added  simply. 

"Then  let  me  ask  what  object  he  had  in  lending  money 
to  your  father?" 

"Oh,  don't  you  see,"  she  cried,  "that  only  makes  it 
worse?     If  I — led  him  on,  if  on  my  account  father 

supposed It    all    comes    back    to    me.     It's    my 

fault,  my  fault ! "     She  was  almost  wild. 

"But  you  did  not  know,"  he  pointed  out.  "This 
debt  cannot  bind  you." 

"It  is  all  my  fault,"  she  repeated. 

"  What  does  your  sister  think  ? "  asked  Pease.  "What 
would  Mr.  Wayne  say?"  He  spoke  with  the  hope  of 
new  influence ;  but  Beth  dissolved  in  sudden  tears,  and 
holding  out  her  hand,  showed  her  finger  bare  of  its  ring 
and  red  with  the  rubbing  which  all  this  time  she  had 
been  giving  it,  to  remove  even  the  mark  of  Jim's  pledge. 

"Do  not  speak  of  him  !"  she  sobbed. 

Judith  gathered  her  in  her  arms;  the  men  walked  into 
the  next  room.  As  Judith  sought  to  comfort  unhappy 
Beth  she  felt  mounting  in  herself  an  unknown  tender- 
ness. In  this  crisis  all  selfishness  was  impossible,  all 
worldliness  was  far  from  her  thoughts.  Her  heart 
spoke  naturally  in  murmurings,  softened  the  hand  which 
gave  the  sweet  caress,  yet  lent  the  strength  that  held  her 
sister  to  her  breast.  It  was  a  blessed  minute  for  them 
both,  for  Judith  learned  new  kindness,  and  Beth  found, 
in  place  of  a  reserved  sister,  one  who  seemed  to  have  a 
mother's  gentleness.  And  yet  their  communion  was 
brief,  for  the  outer  door — earlier  left  unlatched  for 
Beth's  return — opened  and  then  shut,  steps  were 
heard  in  the  hall,  and  a  voice  said  inquiringly,  "Colonel 
Blanchard  ? "     It  was  Ellis  ! 

Judith  rose  quickly  to  her  feet,  dashing  the  tears 
from  her  eyes;  Beth  also  rose,  astonished  and  alarmed. 
Scarcely  had  they  made  an  attempt  to  compose  them- 


26o  The  Bartief 

selves  before  Ellis  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  slowly 
entered. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said;  "I  did  not  ring  because  I  was 
afraid  you  would  not  receive  me.  I  came  to  beg  your 
pardon," 

"It  is  granted,"  Judith  answered  coldly, 

"I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing,"  he  went  on,  "I 
— I  hope  we  can  go  back  to  where  we  were.  No,"  as 
she  made  a  gesture  of  denial,  "hear  me  out.  I  didn't 
mean  what  I  said  about  the  debt  and  mortgages — you 
know  I  did  not.  Let  the  mortgages  run.  And  two  of 
your  father's  notes  are  overdue.  Look,  I  have  written 
another  to  supersede  them  all,  giving  time  for  payment. 
Let  him  sign  this,  and  I  destroy  the  others.  Will  you 
tell  him  this  ? "     He  held  out  the  note. 

Her  eyes  glowed  as  she  took  it.  "  Have  you  a  pen  ? " 
He  drew  out  a  fountain  pen  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  Beth,  alarmed. 

"I  will  sign  it,"  Judith  answered. 

"You?"  Ellis  cried. 

"My  father  is  dead,"  she  replied.  Quickly  she  went 
to  the  table  and  cleared  a  space  at  its  corner. 

"Judith!"  protested  Beth.  But  Judith's  eyes  were 
bright  with  excitement,  and  she  did  not  hear.  Beth 
turned  and  sped  into  the  adjoining  room.  Astonished, 
yet  holding  himself  quiet,  Ellis  listened  to  the  scratching 
of  the  pen,  and  watched  Judith's  eager  face  as  she 
signed  the  note.     She  gave  it  to  him,  with  the  pen. 

"There ! "  she  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  has  fulfilled 
a  duty. 

Then  Mather  entered,  too  late.  Ellis  had  torn  the 
Colonel's  notes  and  handed  them  to  Judith.  "What 
have  you  done?"  Mather  cried. 

She  faced  him  proudly.  "  I  have  assumed  my  father's 
debt." 


Judith  Finds  Herself  261 

To  Pease,  who  had  followed  him,  Mather  cast  one 
look  of  impotence ;  then  he  strode  to  the  promoter's  side. 
"Mr.  ElUs,  give  me  the  note !" 

But  Ellis  put  it  in  his  pocket.     "  It  is  mine." 

"I  will  pledge  myself  for  it,"  offered  Mather,  "at  what 
terms  you  please." 

"It  is  not  for  sale,"  said  Ellis  doggedly. 

"I  will  bring  cash  for  it  on  Monday." 

"Thank  you,"  sneered  Ellis,  "but  I  mean  to  keep  it," 

"Mr.  ElUs,"  Mather  cried,  "on  what  terms  will  you 
part  with  the  note  ? " 

"I  will  part  with  it,"  he  replied,  "only  to  Miss  Blan- 
chard  herself,  as  you  must  admit  is  proper,  and  the 
terms  I  will  arrange  with  her  alone." 

He  looked  his  defiance  into  Mather's  face.  The  tense 
and  shaking  figure  of  his  rival  towered  above  him,  and 
Pease  started  forward  to  prevent  a  blow.  But  Mather 
controlled  himself  and  pointed  to  the  door.     "Go!" 

Ellis  bowed  to  the  sisters.  "Good-night."  No  one 
made  answer  as  he  went  away. 

Beth,  exhausted,  was  asleep  at  last;  Judith  sat  by 
her  side.  The  medical  examiner  had  come  and  gone, 
her  father  lay  in  peace,  and  the  house  was  quiet.  Down- 
stairs Mather  was  watching:  he  had  offered  to  stay; 
Beth  had  begged  that  he  might.  Judith  would  not 
allow  her  thoughts  to  dwell  on  him,  or  on  the  comfort 
of  his  neighbourhood.  She  would  not  think  of  Ellis, 
nor  of  those  obligations,  the  extent  of  which  she  did  not 
understand.  Of  her  father  she  did  not  dare  to  think 
except  to  promise  to  take  his  place  toward  Beth,  and  to 
pay  his  debt  even  if  the  struggle  should  bring  her  to 
face  the  world's  worst.  Yet  no  fear  troubled  her,  for  a 
new  self,  an  awakening  soul,  was  stirring  within  her, 
calling  for  contrition,   self-examination,   and  for  new 


a63  The  Bafficf 

resolves.  Musing  and  confessing  her  faults,  Judith  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  up  at  the  stars;  through 
them  she  looked  into  the  unalterable  and  true.  She 
had  been  wrong;  she  understood  the  falseness  of  her 
standards.  Then  she  saw  more,  and  awe  began  to  come 
over  her  as  she  perceived  so  much  where  once  had 
appeared  so  little.  Life  held  love:  her  sister  was  left  to 
her.  Life  held  duty,  and  work  to  be  accomplished. 
That  work  called  her. 

Yet  how  different  it  was  from  what  she  had  expected  ! 
She  had  desired  to  mix  with  affairs;  now  in  truth  she 
would  become  part  of  them,  but  only  as  a  wheel  in  the 
great  machine.  She  was  not  disappointed  nor  dismayed. 
Seen  thus  near  at  hand,  life  had  rewards,  giving  vigour, 
not  ennui;  and  giving  reality,  not  that  artificiality  of  the 
past.  She  did  not  regret,  for  she  saw  greater  heights  to 
the  new  life  which  she  faced  than  to  the  one  dead  level 
of  the  old  conception. 

It  was  also  new  to  Judith  that  without  reasoning  she 
felt  all  this,  and  knew,  as  never  before.  She  would  give 
herself  to  this  wonderful  life,  would  follow  it  to  whatever 
end  was  waiting  for  her,  confident  that,  having  acted 
right,  that  end  could  not  be  evil.  And  so  feeUng,  her 
heart  moved  within  her,  again  to  her  eyes  came  the 
tears,  and  another  of  those  barriers  melted  away  which 
stood  between  Judith  and  her  true  womanhood. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Knowledge  op  New  Things 

While  the  Colonel  lay  unburied  his  house  was  un- 
changed. His  daughters  talked  over  their  plans,  and 
settled  it  between  them,  to  the  dismay  of  their  new 
guardians,  that  Judith  was  to  become  a  stenographer, 
Beth  a  governess.  On  the  third  day  the  fashionable  part 
of  Stirling  showed  as  much  interest  as  was  permitted  in 
the  two  funerals  which  took  place  at  the  same  hour.  The 
services  for  the  Colonel  were  private,  no  flowers  were 
sent,  and  a  single  carriage  brought  the  mourners  to  the 
grave.  On  their  way  they  passed  the  church  where  the 
body  of  the  Judge,  as  became  his  high  position  and  his 
wife's  love  of  display,  was  having  almost  a  state  funeral, 
and  where  a  curious  throng  waited  at  the  door  to  see  the 
people  who  should  fill  the  score  of  waiting  carriages. 
And  so  the  Judge  went  to  his  rest  much  honoured,  and 
the  journals  wrote  about  him;  but  the  poor  Colonel 
travelled  simply  to  the  cemetery,  and  only  his  daughters. 
Pease,  and  Mather,  stood  beside  his  grave.  George 
remained  to  watch  the  filling-in;  the  others  returned 
home,  now  home  no  longer — ^Judith  could  not  regard  it 
so. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said  suddenly  to  her  two  com- 
panions in  the  carriage,  "I  shall  begin  to  look  for  a 
boarding-house." 

Beth  gave  her  a  startled  glance,  but  said  nothing. 
Pease  answered,  "We  must  talk  it  over."  Even  in  the 
hurry  and  distress  of  their  recent  relations,  Judith  had 

363 


264  The  Barrief 

learned  to  understand  him  so  well  that  she  knew  that 
his  reply  meant  opposition.  Pease  was  something  new 
to  her;  she  liked  his  deliberation,  and  was  beginning  to 
appreciate  his  force.  When,  arriving  at  the  house,  she 
found  Miss  Cynthia  there,  Judith  knew  that  some  plan 
had  been  made  between  them. 

Miss  Cynthia  proposed  it  at  once:  the  sisters  should 
come  to  live  with  her.  "You  shall  have  a  room  apiece," 
she  said.  "You  shall  do  exactly  as  you  please.  And 
there  is  nothing  else  for  you  to  do." 

"I  knew,"  said  Judith,  "that  our  friends  would  think 
we  oughtn't  board." 

"It  isn't  that,"  replied  Miss  Cynthia.  "I  say  you 
can't.  Next  Monday  this  house  and  furniture  are  to  be 
given  over  to  Mr.  Ellis.  My  dear  girl,  you  haven't  a 
penny  to  your  name ! " 

Perhaps  the  brusque  reply  was  merciful,  as  it  swept 
away  all  grounds  for  argument.  "Take  Beth,"  Judith 
answered,  "but  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  help 
me.     Let  me  go  out  and  earn  my  living." 

"I  mean  to  take  Beth,"  was  the  determined  answer. 
"And  I  claim  the  chance  to  know  you  better." 

"Judith,"  cried  Beth  tearfully,  "would  you  go  away 
from  me?" 

And  Pease  put  in  his  argument.  "You  are  not  able 
to  earn  money  yet.  You  must  stay  somewhere  while 
you  study." 

"So,"  asked  Judith,  "all  this  has  been  talked  over 
between  you?" 

Pease  answered  by  giving  her  a  note  from  Mather. 
"I  hope,"  it  read,  "that  for  Beth's  sake  you  will  accept 
Miss  Pease's  offer."  For  Beth's  sake!  Judith  looked 
at  Beth,  then  at  the  other  two,  both  prepared  for  battle, 
and  yielded. 

"I  think,"  was  Miss  Pease's  sole  remark,  "that  you 


Knowledge  of  New  Things  265 

are  wise."  Her  manner  implied  a  threat  withdrawn, 
much  as  if,  had  not  Judith  agreed,  she  would  have  been 
carried  off  by  force. 

In  three  days  more  the  house  was  vacated,  and  was 
surrendered  to  Ellis.  When  Pease  and  Mather  had 
adjusted  the  Colonel's  accotmts,  some  few  dollars  were 
remaining  to  his  estate,  only  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the 
outstanding  bills,  the  most  significant  of  which  was  the 
account  for  the  Japanese  knife.  And  so  the  two  girls, 
whose  small  savings  had  gone  to  buy  their  mourning, 
were  left  almost  literally  without  a  cent. 

Thus  Judith  began  the  world  anew  on  the  charity  of 
friends,  telling  herself  that  she  must  submit  for  the 
sake  of  accomplishing.  She  took  her  place  at  the  side 
of  Pease's  table  with  the  air  of  still  presiding  at  her  own, 
and  Mather,  coming  in  the  evening,  noted  her  bearing 
and  groaned  in  spirit.  He  explained  that  he  had  come 
to  see  if  the  moving  were  successful.  "Three  trunks 
between  us,"  said  Judith.  "Did  you  think  the  under- 
taking was  very  great?" 

"There  is  your  typewriter,"  he  reminded  her. 

But  she  would  have  no  jesting.  "My  one  really 
valuable  asset.  And  now  you  must  tell  me,  George, 
where  I  shotdd  go  to  school.  To  what  business  college, 
I  mean?" 

For  in  spite  of  all  protests,  the  sisters  were  preparing 
to  work.  From  their  old  school-books  they  had  saved 
those  which  might  still  be  of  service,  and  on  the  morrow 
Beth  was  to  begin  with  her  geography  and  arithmetic. 

"It  will  be  very  tmpleasant,"  Mather  said,  "going to 
a  commercial  school.  Look  here,  there  is  a  Httle  girl  in 
my  office — you  saw  her  at  Chebasset — who  can  come  and 
teach  you,  evenings." 

"And  my  days?"  she  returned.  "I  am  not  afraid  of 
the  unpleasantness." 


266  The  Bafttcf 

So  he  sighed  and  advised  her.  She  appreciated  that 
he  had  inquired  into  the  standing  of  the  schools,  and 
could  tell  which  was  the  best.  The  tuition  was  ex- 
pensive, but  there  was  a  scheme  by  which  scholars  might 
pay  out  of  future  wages, 

"And  so  I  go  deeper  into  debt  before  I  can  begin  to 
earn  for  my  fifteen  thousand  dollars  ?" 

"Judith,"  he  said,  "let  your  friends  make  up  that 
sum  and  relieve  you  of  all  relations  with  Ellis." 

"Mr.  Pease  and  you?"  she  asked. 

"And  Mr.  Fenno.  Excuse  me  for  telling  him;  he  had 
learned  something  of  it  from  Beth." 

" He  is  very  kind,"  said  Judith.  "So  are  you  all,  but 
the  debt  would  remain." 

"Ellis  can  annoy  you,"  he  reminded  her. 

"Then  let  me  bear  it  as  a  punishment.  It  may  help 
me  to  make  something  of  myself." 

"How  many  years,"  he  demanded,  "do  you  mean  to 
keep  this  up?" 

"Forever,  if  necessary,"  she  returned,  but  then  spoke 
softly.  "George,  don't  be  vexed  with  me.  What  else 
can  I  do?" 

She  was  earnest;  he  saw  there  no  other  way  for  her. 
"Let  me  help,  then,"  he  said,  and  told  her  more  about 
the  school.  In  her  questions  and  comments  he  saw 
her  interest  in  the  future,  her  curiosity  as  to  the  life  she 
was  about  to  lead.  In  spite  of  all  that  had  passed,  in 
spite  of  the  new  deceptive  softness,  the  old  idea  still 
held  and  ruled  her:  she  would  be  in  touch  with  things, 
would  know  what  was  going  on  in  the  world. 

In  her  new  home,  little  lessons  began  to  come  to 
Judith.  Pease  was  a  revelation  of  kindliness  and 
abiUty — a  contradiction.  That  such  simplicity  could 
cover  such  power,  that  he  could  set  up  an  inflexible 
opinion  against   hers   and  yet  be  embarrassed  in  her 


Knowledge  of  New  Things  a67 

presence,  was  strange,  yet  very  pleasing.  Miss  Cynthia 
with  her  violent  manners  was  another  source  of  knowl- 
edge, for  this  odd  person  was  a  woman  of  the  world ;  she 
had  experience  and  importance ;  she  corresponded  with 
philanthropists,  and  people  of  note  came  to  see  her. 
And  Judith  gained  from  her  this  lesson:  that  from  a 
quiet  home  one  may  extend  a  wide  influence,  and  be  of 
the  world  while  not  at  all  times  in  it.  Thus  the  two 
Peases,  with  their  individuality,  did  much  to  show 
Judith  that  there  was  force  still  remaining  in  the  old 
famiUes  which  she  had  rated  so  low.  She  grew  to  have 
a  little  fear  of  Miss  Pease,  with  her  searching  questions 
and  blunt  comments,  lest  she  should  inquire  into  Judith's 
interest  in  Ellis,  and  with  that  cutting  tongue  lay  bare 
her  folly.  And  yet  at  the  same  time  Judith  took 
comfort  in  Miss  Cynthia,  who  upheld  her  in  her  plans. 
Miss  Cynthia  had  worked  for  her  living,  and  declared  that 
it  did  a  woman  good. 

But  the  strongest  new  influence  on  Judith  was  in  her 
relations  with  Beth.  Judith  had  always  recognised 
Beth's  strength.  A  feminine  fortitude,  not  disdaining 
tears ;  a  perception  of  worldly  values  which  Judith  was 
coming  to  see  was  clearer  than  her  own ;  steadfastness  and 
charity:  these  were  the  qualities  which  had  brought 
Beth  through  the  recent  crisis  with  less  actual  change 
than  in  her  sister.  And  Judith,  beginning  to  admire  in 
Beth  the  traits  which  previously  she  had  merely  noted, 
found  also  a  great  comfort  in  her  sister's  girlishness,  a 
solace  in  her  softer  nature  which  was  to  Judith  the 
beginning  of  the  possibiKties  of  friendship. 

For,  save  with  Ellis,  Judith  had  never  spoken  freely, 
and  with  him  but  little.  At  the  same  time  she  had 
never  been  lonely,  turning  from  friends.  Yet  in  this 
changed  life  she  took  pleasure  in  Beth's  nearness, 
interested  herself  in  her  doings,  and  invited  her  con- 


268  The  Bafficf 

fidences.  She  grew  jealous  lest  Miss  Cynthia,  so  long 
Beth's  friend,  should  take  the  place  which  belonged  to 
her;  and  so  by  gentleness  Judith  won  from  Beth  the 
story  which  weighed  on  her  mind. 

It  was  one  evening  when  the  sisters  had  gone  up-stairs ; 
Judith  went  into  Beth's  room.  Beth,  with  her  sadness 
so  well  controlled,  seemed  sweeter  than  she  had  ever 
been.  She  had  grown  pale  over  her  books.  "If  you  go 
to  your  school,"  she  said  when  Judith  remonstrated 
with  her,  "why  shouldn't  I  work,  too?"  But  she 
was  often  weary  at  the  end  of  the  day,  and  seemed 
so  now. 

"Beth,"  said  Judith,  "I  saw  Mrs.  Wayne  to-day. 
She  was  looking  better.  George  has  found  a  buyer  for 
her  house,  and  she  is  going  to  live  with  some  cousins." 

"I  am  very  glad  that  is  settled  so  well,"  answered 
Beth,  and  then  asked  with  hesitation:  "Has  anything 
been  heard  from — ^Jim  ? " 

" Nothing,"  replied  Judith.  "Beth,  are  you  worrying 
about  him?" 

"No,"  Beth  said.     "I — I  am  sorry  for  him,  but " 

She  looked  up.  "Oh,  Judith,  I  want  to  speak  to  some 
one  about  it.  There  is  a  part  of  it  that  no  one  knows. 
May  I  tell  you  ? " 

Judith  knelt  at  her  side.  "Tell  me,  dear?"  she 
begged. 

Beth,  clasping  Judith's  hand  and  feeling  the  comfort 
of  her  sympathy,  told  the  story  of  that  meeting  at  the 
Judge's — told  the  whole  of  it.  Had  she  done  right  in 
giving  back  the  ring  ? 

Judith  assured  her  that  she  had. 

"That  is  not  all,"  said  Beth.  " I  thought  that  I  gave 
it  back  because  he  had  been — untrue,  yet  that  I  loved 
him  just  the  same.  But,  Judith,  I  have  been  thinking — 
you  have  seen  me  thinking?" 


Knowledge  of  New  Things  269 

"Yes,  dear,"  Judith  answered.  "What  have  you 
thought?" 

Beth  pressed  her  hands.  "You  must  tell  me  if  I 
am  right.  For  I  seem  almost  hard-hearted,  sometimes. 
Judith,  why  did  the  Judge  die  ? " 

Judith  looked  at  her  with  startled  eyes.  "It  killed 
him!" 

Beth  nodded  solemnly.  "//  killed  him,  or  did — 
they!" 

"They!"  Judith  cried. 

"But  she  most,"  went  on  Beth,  looking  straight  in 
front  of  her.  "Sometimes  I  think  I  understand  it, 
Judith.  It  wasn't  sudden;  it  must  have  been  going  on 
for  some  time.  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Wayne  that  once, 
you  remember,  after  it  all  happened.  She  doesn't 
blame  Jim;  she  took  me  up  into  his  room:  it  was  just 
as  it  was  that  night,  with  his  bed  opened  for  him.  And 
she  cried  there.  But  I  looked  on  the  bureau,  Judith, 
and  saw  pictures  of — her." 

"Of  Mrs.  Harmon?" 

"Yes.  And  one  almost  covered  the  one  he  had  of 
me.  Judith,  he  hadn't  come  to  this  all  of  a  sudden  ? 
Tell  me,  for  I  don't  want  to  misjudge  him.  " 

"I  have  seen  him  with  her,"  answered  Judith.  " Once 
I  saw  them  at  the  theater  door,  going  out  together." 
The  coincidence  made  itself  clearer.  "That  was  the 
day  you  and  he  went;  I  supposed  you  were  behind." 

"We — he — it  was  my  fault,"  said  Beth.  "I  went 
away  from  the  play,  and  he  left  me,  angry.  He  must 
have  met  her  and  gone  with  her.  And  at  other  times, 
when  I  knew  he  was  not  at  Chebasset,  and  expected 
him  to  come  to  me,  and  he  didn't — do  you  suppose  he 
was  with  her?" 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"And  that  kiss,"  said  Beth,  shuddering.     "It  was  so 


27©  The  Battier 

eager — fierce !  It  wasn't  just  flirting.  He — he  pre- 
ferred her  to  me." 

"Beth,  dear!"  murmured  Judith,  soothing  her. 

"He  was — weak,"  went  on  Beth.  "I  suppose  I 
always  knew  it,  but  I  wouldn't  admit  it.  So  weak  that 
she — I  want  to  be  charitable,  but  I  think  she  led  him 
away  from  me." 

"I  am  afraid  she  did,  dear." 

"I  forgive  him,"  said  Beth,  struggling  to  pursue  her 
thought  to  the  end.  "Of  course  you  know  that, 
Judith.  But  I  was  fond  of  the  Judge,  and  he  died 
from — it.  And  Jim  was — false  to  me,  and"  (Judith  felt 
the  Httle  form  begin  to  quiver)  "even  his  dishonesty  was 
not  for  me  but  for — her,  because  Mr.  Price  sent  Mrs. 
Wayne  a  great  bill  for  expensive  jewels,  and  she  asked 
me  if — ^if  I'd  give  them  back,  and  I  had  to  say  that  he — 
hadn't  given  me  any  ! " 

"Beth,  dear!"  cried  Judith,  clasping  the  quivering 
form.     "Beth,  be  brave  ! " 

"I  will,"  said  Beth,  struggling  heroically.  "But  as 
I've  thought  it  out  by  myself " 

"Oh,  you've  been  all  alone  ! "  cried  Judith,  reproaching 
herself.     ' '  Why  didn't  I  understand  ? ' ' 

"I  had  to  think  it  out,"  Beth  said.  "I  think  I  see 
it  clearly  now,  Judith,  and  I  know  myself  better,  and 
I'm — ashamed  of  myself  that  I'm  so  selfish,  but  I  think 
that  I — don't  love  him — any  more  !" 

Tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  she  clung  to  her  sister, 
shaken  with  sobs.  Judith  wept  with  her;  for  them  both 
that  was  a  blessed  hour.  Long  after  others  were  abed 
their  murmured  conference  lasted,  for  Beth  needed  to 
be  told,  over  and  over  again,  that  she  had  done  right, 
and  felt  right,  and  Judith  was  glad  of  it. 

Thus  new  feelings  grew  in  Judith,  stronger  for  her 
contact  with  the  outside  world.     For  the  school  was 


Knowledge  of  New  Things  271 

disagreeable  and  humiliating.  She  had  to  go  back  to 
the  rudiments  of  knowledge ;  she  had  to  do  examples  and 
find  them  wrong.  Her  teachers  were  unpleasant,  her 
fellow-pupils  coarse  and  inquisitive.  The  many  little 
daily  rubs  commenced  to  tell  on  her;  her  cheeks  lost 
colour,  her  step  something  of  its  vigour,  and  she  began  to 
look  upon  the  outer  world  as  something  with  power  to 
do  her  still  more  harm. 

Yet  to  it  she  presented  a  haughty  front,  as  one  person 
found.  Mrs.  Harmon  came  to  call,  an  interesting 
widow,  dressed  in  her  new  mourning.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon;  the  day  had  gone  hard  with  Judith,  she 
had  forgotten  to  eat  luncheon,  and  since  her  return 
from  the  school  had  been  sitting  over  her  "home 
lessons,"  wretched  tasks  which  called  her  to  make  up 
the  accounts  of  a  certain  Mr.  Y ,  and  also  to  calcu- 
late the  interest  on  notes  at  four,  five,  and  seven  and 
a  half  per  cent,  for  periods  of  from  twelve  to  a  hundred 
days.  Her  answers  would  not  agree  with  those  in  the 
book.  But  faint  and  discouraged  as  she  was,  her  eyes 
grew  bright  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Harmon's  card,  and  she 
walked  into  the  parlour  with  the  air  of  a  grenadier. 

"Why,  Judith,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon,  rising, 
"how  changed  you  look!  I  am  so  glad  I  came  to 
comfort  you." 

"And  I  am  glad  you  came,"  Judith  returned.  "I 
have  been  wishing  to  see  you." 

"You  have  been  lonesome,  dear?" 

"To  thank  you,"  pursued  Judith  steadily,  "for 
the  service  you  did  my  sister,  in  ridding  her  of 
Mr.  Wayne." 

Very  fortunately,  after  the  two  had  remained  looking 
at  each  other  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  while  Mrs. 
Harmon  grew  very  red  in  the  face  and  Judith  remained 
unchanged.  Miss  Cynthia  suddenly  entered  the  room. 


272  The  Barfier 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  halting.  "I 
didn't  know  that  any  one  was  here." 

"You  didn't  disturb  us,"  Judith  answered.  "Mrs, 
Harmon  was  just  going." 

Mrs.  Harmon,  looking  as  if  she  would  burst  if  she 
attempted  to  speak,  could  only  bow  with  an  attempt  at 
frigidity,  quite  spoiled  by  the  visible  heat  which  was 
almost  smothering  her,  and  departed  with  suddenness. 
Miss  Cynthia,  never  surprised  at  people's  actions,  looked 
at  Judith,  whose  cheeks  were  very  pale,  while  her  eyes 
had  lost  their  fire. 

"I  suppose  I've  insulted  her,"  said  Judith. 

"I  hope  you  have,"  Miss  Cynthia  answered.  But 
watching  Judith  intently,  she  suddenly  seized  her  by  the 
arm,  forced  her  to  the  sofa,  forbade  her  to  stir,  and  sent 
for  tea.  It  was  a  sign  of  change  that  Judith  took  the 
ministration  passively. 

Yet  her  growing  weariness  was  not  to  be  relieved  by 
a  short  rest  or  a  cup  of  tea.  Her  nerves  kept  her  at 
work,  driving  her  at  forced  draught,  which  for  long  at 
a  time  is  good  for  neither  machinery  nor  man.  Mather 
came  that  evening,  and  was  led  into  the  parlour  by  Beth, 
but  his  eyes  sought  for  Judith  in  vain.  ' '  Where  is  she  ? " 
he  demanded. 

"She's  in  the  dining-room,"  Beth  said.  "This  eve- 
ning it's  her  shorthand;  she's  expanding  her  notes." 

"And  she  wouldn't  want  to  see  me  ?" 

"She  needs  company." 

He  looked  at  her,  trying  to  read  her  meaning;  she 
smiled  and  tossed  her  head.  "Beth  is  beginning  to 
look  better,"  he  thought,  and  remembered  that  she  had 
never  asked  him  for  news  of  Jim,  Then  her  expression 
changed  as  a  step  was  heard  in  the  hall;  it  was  Pease 
coming,  plantigrade  and  slow.  "Is  that  it?"  thought 
Mather. 


Knowledge  of  New  Things  273 

"I  think  I'll  go  and  see  Judith,"  he  said,  and  passed 
Pease  at  the  door. 

Judith  was  in  the  dining-room,  bending  over  her  note- 
book. Scattered  sheets  lay  on  the  table  before  her; 
her  hair  had  in  places  escaped  from  its  confinement  and 
strayed  over  forehead  and  nape.  He  saw  the  fatigue 
in  her  eyes  as  she  raised  them. 

"I'm  all  mixed  up,"  she  said. 

He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down.  "  So  I  should  think. 
How  any  one  reads  shorthand  I  don't  see."  He  took 
the  note-book.     " It  seems  well  done." 

"Sometimes  I  write  it  correctly,"  she  said,  "and  then 
can't  read  it.  Sometimes  I  could  read  it  if  I  had  only 
written  it  right.  To-day  the  man  read  very  fast,  on 
purpose,  and  I  lost  some  of  it." 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  if  you  could  at  times  forget 
your  work,  you  would  come  back  to  it  fresher." 

"I  can't  forget  it,"  she  replied.  "Sometimes  I  dream 
of  it." 

"We'll  have  you  sick  on  our  hands,"  he  warned  her. 

"Don't  lecture,  George,"  she  answered.  "Give  me 
the  book." 

He  watched  her  for  a  while  as  she  translated  her 
hieroglyphs;  she  kept  at  it  doggedly.  "Good -night," 
he  said  at  last.  She  looked  up  to  respond,  smiled 
mechanically,  and  turned  to  her  work  before  he  was  out 
of  the  room.  He  went  to  the  parlour  and  stood  anxiously 
before  Beth  and  Pease. 

"You'll  have  her  breaking  down,"  he  said. 

"There  is  nothing  we  can  do,"  Beth  answered.  "She 
will  keep  at  it." 

"I've  warned  you,"  he  responded,  and  took  his  hat. 
He  was  at  the  front  door,  when  from  the  dining-room 
Judith  called  him  to  her.  "George,"  she  asked,  "is  six 
per  cent,  the  legal  rate  of  interest?" 


274  The  Bamet 

"In  this  State  it  is,"  he  answered. 

"Then  my  note  to  Mr.  ElHs  is  rolHng  up  interest  at 
nine  hundred  a  year  ? " 

"I  suppose  so," 

"Can  I  ever  earn  as  much?" 

"With  experience  you  can." 

"And  I  must  earn  much  more  in  order  to  pay  any- 
thing on  the  principal?" 

"Yes." 

She  put  her  hands  together  in  her  lap.  "I  am 
learning  something."  As  he  stood  and  looked  at  her, 
he  saw  two  tears  roll  out  upon  her  cheeks. 

"Judith  ! "  he  cried,  striding  toward  her. 

But  she  rose  quickly,  putting  out  a  hand  to  keep  him 
away.  "I  am  only  tired,"  she  said.  "I'm  sorry  not 
to  be  better  company.     Good-night,  George." 

He  stopped  instantly,  said  "Good-night,"  and  went 
away.  Then  suddenly  she  felt  forlorn,  and  more  tears 
came  into  her  eyes.  "He  would  not  have  gone  if  he 
loved  me  still." 


CHAPTER  XXX 
Time  Begins  His  Revenges 

Political  and  social  undercurrents  were  slowly 
working  to  the  surface  in  the  world  of  Stirling.  Though 
it  was  barely  spring,  the  mayoralty  campaign  was  well 
under  way,  promising  a  close  struggle  in  the  fall.  A 
more  immediate  matter  was  the  threatened  strike, 
which  the  men's  leaders  were  urging  in  the  hope  that  the 
approaching  annual  meeting  of  the  stockholders  of  the 
street-railway  might  bring  some  relief.  In  these 
affairs  the  attitude  of  Elhs  was  of  importance. 

The  newspapers  called  him  the  Sphinx,  since  he  gave 
no  sign  of  his  purposes.  In  politics,  of  course,  it  was  to  be 
assumed  that  he  was  on  the  side  of  the  machine.  But 
against  the  strike  he  might  take  a  variety  of  courses, 
with  a  variety  of  results,  all  of  which  were,  by  the 
speculative,  mapped  and  calculated  in  advance.  He 
might  yield  and  avoid  the  strike,  he  might  defy  it,  or 
at  the  last  minute  he  might  by  some  sudden  action 
entirely  change  the  aspect  of  affairs  and  bring  himself 
profit  and  credit.  Just  how  this  last  could  be  done  no 
one  seemed  to  be  sure,  but  since  from  day  to  day  matters 
were  growing  worse  and  Ellis  made  no  move,  it  was 
confidently  stated  that  he  had  "something  up  his 
sleeve." 

Otherwise  there  was  no  explaining  his  conduct.  His 
opponents  did  not  dare  to  believe  that  he  was  blinded  by 
self-confidence,  and  yet  his  own  followers,  trust  him  as 
they  might,  were  uneasy.     His  manner  showed  a  steady, 

275 


276  The  Barriet 

almost  savage  determination  to  win,  and  yet  he  did  not 
"tend  to  business."  There  were  days  when  he  was 
absent  from  his  office  altogether,  refusing  to  talk  with 
his  subordinates  except  by  telephone — and  they  hated 
to  discuss  plans  except  within  four  walls.  There  was 
even  one  day  when  he  disappeared  altogether,  just  when 
the  Stirling  representatives  had  come  down  from  the 
State  capital  to  confer  with  him  on  the  street-railway 
bill,  the  prospects  of  which,  on  account  of  the  clause 
conferring  eminent  domain,  were  none  too  bright. 
Ellis,  when  at  last  his  men  found  him  in  the  evening, 
said  only  that  he  had  been  at  Chebasset.  Moreover, 
his  men  got  Httle  out  of  him:  with  an  odd  new  gleam  in 
his  eye,  he  merely  Hstened  as  they  spoke;  he  gave  no 
directions,  and  when  they  begged  him  to  run  up  to  the 
capital  and  lobby  for  himself  he  thanked  them  and  said 
he'd  think  it  over.  Feeling  their  journey  to  have  been 
for  nothing,  they  left  him,  grumbling  among  themselves. 
Something  seemed  wrong  with  him. 

Something  was  wrong  with  him.  A  man  with  a  pain 
gnawing  at  his  heart  and  a  ghost  always  before  his  eyes 
cannot  attend  to  his  work.  It  was  not  the  Colonel's 
ghost  that  dogged  Ellis:  he  never  troubled  for  his  part 
in  Blanchard's  death.  Judith,  splendid  in  cold  anger, 
haunted  him.  She  spoiled  his  sleep,  she  came  between 
him  and  his  work,  she  tormented  him  by  the  vision  of 
what  he  had  lost.  There  was  a  steady  drain  upon  him, 
as  from  an  unhealed  wound — or  from  that  inward 
bleeding  which,  on  the  very  first  day  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, he  had  felt  on  leaving  her.  No,  he  was  not  him- 
self; his  mind  was  confused,  his  energies  wasted,  by  the 
constant  alternation  of  anger  and  despair. 

When  realisation  swept  upon  him  suddenly,  then  he 
shut  himself  up,  refused  himself  to  all,  and  fought  his 
fury  until  he  had  controlled  it.     That  day  when  he  went 


Time  Begins  His  Revenges  277 

to  Cheb asset  he  had  not  intended  to  go,  but  on  his  way 
to  his  office  there  suddenly  rushed  over  him  the  sense  of 
his  loss.  Possessed  by  the  thought,  he  took  the  train  to 
Chebasset  and  wandered  half  the  day  among  his  grounds, 
tormenting  himself  by  the  recollection  that  these  drives, 
walks,  shrubberies  were  laid  out  for  Judith,  and  now  she 
would  never  live  among  them.  When  he  took  out  of  his 
pocket  a  slip  of  paper  bearing  her  signature  and  told 
himself  that  she  was  in  his  power — in  his  power ! — he 
found  no  pleasure  in  the  thought. 

In  the  evening  he  had  not  cast  off  his  mood,  and  when 
he  met  his  men,  sent  them  away  dissatisfied.  One, 
bolder  or  more  foolhardy  than  the  others,  lingered  a 
moment.     "  Say , "  he  asked ,  ' '  what 's  wrong  ? ' ' 

"Nothing,"  answered  Ellis. 

"Honest  I'm  telling  you,"  said  his  henchman,  "a 
strike  will  kill  the  bill.  And  the  men  on  the  road  are 
getting  ugly." 

"Thanks,"  Ellis  replied  impatiently.  The  glow  in 
his  eyes  suddenly  became  fierce,  and  the  man  took 
himself  off. 

All  this  was  extremely  irritating  to  Ellis ;  he  felt  more 
angry  with  his  own  men  than  with  his  opponents,  and 
was  ready  to  punish  them  for  insubordination  without 
considering  the  cause  of  their  alarm.  It  was  unfor- 
tunate for  Mr.  Price  that  he  chose  to  come  to  Ellis  just 
after  his  legislators  had  left  him.  Price  wore  the  same 
uneasy  air. 

"Now,  what  are  you  worried  about?"  Ellis  began  on 
him. 

It  was  his  street-railway  stock,  Price  explained.  The 
quotations  were  so  continually  dropping 

"Only  fifteen  dollars!"  Ellis  interrupted  scornfully. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Price,  "but  they  will  soon  be  down 
again  to  where  I  bought  them." 


278  The  Barrier 

"Bought ? "  sneered  ElHs.     "Bought  /" 

"Well "  hesitated  Price. 

"What  is  it  to  you,"  demanded  Ellis  in  jarring  tones, 
"where  the  price  of  the  stock  is,  up  or  down?  It  cost 
you  nothing,  it  pays  you  well,  it's  a  sure  thing.  Just 
you  hold  it  and  send  me  your  proxies." 

"But,"  suggested  Price,  very  much  brow-beaten,  yet 
endeavoiuing  to  say  what  he  came  for,  "if  it's  such  a 
good  thing,  won't  you,  perhaps,  take  it.?" 

"What ! "  rasped  ElHs.  "My  God,  Price,  haven't  you 
the  decency  to  sit  still  and  say  nothing  ? " 

"Oh,  well,"  mumbled  the  jeweller,  writhing,  "if  the 
stock  is  so  sure — you're  sure  it's  solid  ? " 

"Certainly,"  Ellis  said.  "Price,  don't  be  an  ass! 
The  other  side  is  just  selling  itself  a  share  or  two,  every 
httle  while,  to  make  the  impression  that  the  value  is 
falling.     Don't  you  be  taken  in." 

"Oh,  if  that's  all!"  breathed  Price,  much  relieved. 
He  took  his  hat. 

"There,  run  along,"  said  ElHs.  "You  know  who  are 
your  best  friends."  He  spoke  as  if  directing  a  child,  and 
Price  went  away  with  an  irritated  sense  of  his  own 
impotence  and  meanness. 

But  Ellis  found  no  reHef  in  scolding  his  dependents. 
He  missed  something;  he  knew  that  he  needed  a  place 
where  he  might  sit  quiet  and  forget  the  grind  and  grime 
of  his  affairs.  The  best  that  was  left  to  him  was  Mrs. 
Harmon,  but  she  never  could  equal  Judith,  and  when  he 
went  to  see  her  now  she  bothered  him  with  her  advice. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,"  were  her  first  words.  "I 
have  been  thinking  of  telephoning  you." 

"What  is  it  now ? "  he  asked  drearily. 

"Stephen,"  she  demanded  with  energy,  "do  you 
realise  what  is  going  on  ?  They  are  all  organising  against 
you." 


Time  Begins  His  Revenues  279 

"What  can  they  do?"  he  snarled. 

"Your  own  men  are  frightened,"  she  said.  "Two  of 
them  came  to  me  to-day — no,  I  won't  tell  their  names. 
They  begged  me  to  tell  you  there  mustn't  be  a  strike. 
You'll  lose  yotir  bill,  your  mayor  will  be  defeated. 
Can't  you  see  that  ? " 

"No !"  he  returned. 

"The  papers  are  all  calling  for  Mather  as  street- 
railway  president,"  she  went  on.  "The  men  say  they 
would  never  strike  under  him.  It's  all  very  well  for 
you  to  say  that  the  travelling  public  must  take  what 
you  give  them,  but  people  won't " 

"Lydia,"  he  interrupted,  "it's  very  good  of  you  to  be 
interested  in  my  position,  but  suppose  you  give  your 
time  to  your  own.     It  needs  it  bad  enough." 

He  touched  a  sore,  for  Judge  Harmon's  old  friends, 
remembering  his  disappointment  in  his  wife,  were 
dropping  her.  She  was  irritated,  and  snapped  in 
return.  "You  look  very  badly,"  she  said  critically. 
"Just  for  a  girl,  Stephen?" 

He  glared  at  her  so  furiously,  at  a  loss  for  speech, 
that  she  was  frightened  and  begged  his  pardon.  Yet 
after  she  had  given  him  tea  she  returned  again  to  the 
charge. 

"You  said,  Stephen,  that  you  control  a  majority  of 
shareholders'  votes.  You  aren't  afraid  that  some  of 
your  men  will  sell  out  to  the  other  side  ?  I  see  the  stock 
is  down." 

"But  is  it  traded  in?"  he  asked.  "Only  a  share  or 
two.  You  are  Uke  Price;  he  came  whimpering  to  me 
yesterday  about  his  fifty  shares." 

"But  the  balance  is  pretty  even,  isn't  it?"  she 
inquired.  "Mightn't  fifty  shares  just  make  the  whole 
difference?" 

"If  you  mean  whether  Price  would  sell  me  out,"  he 


28o  The  Baffiet 

answered.  "He  never  bought  his  shares.  They  came 
to  him  through  me.     He's  tied  to  me." 

"I  don't  see  how?"  she  said  doubtfully.  "He's  not 
in  politics  now ;  he's  independent,  and  he  gets  his  money 
from  the  upper  people — the  other  side  entirely.  But  I 
suppose  you  know.  Still,  I  wish  Abiel  had  never  sold 
his  stock." 

"Don't  worry,"  he  commanded.  "Confound  it,  I 
have  to  supply  courage  to  the  whole  of  you." 

His  men  had  need  of  his  courage  as  day  by  day 
matters  drifted  nearer  to  a  crisis  and  they  saw  their 
enemies  organising.  Those  nervous  and  eager  persons, 
the  reform  politicians,  had  long  talks  with  the  men  of 
money,  who  were  not  now  averse  to  giving  them  inter- 
views. The  men  of  money  talked  together,  and  the 
newspapers  claimed  that  at  last,  after  almost  a  genera- 
tion, the  society  leaders  were  to  take  a  hand  in  pohtics. 
As  several  of  the  reformers  held  railway  stock,  and  as 
the  fashionables  could  (if  they  chose)  muster  many 
votes  for  the  election,  their  alliance  against  Ellis  might 
prove  formidable.  The  reformers  grew  more  cheerful, 
old  Mr.  Fenno  more  grim,  Pease  more  thoughtful  as  the 
days  went  by.  The  time  was  near  for  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  street-railway  shareholders,  and  the 
strike,  if  it  came  at  all,  would  come  before  that.  The 
whole  city  was  intent  upon  the  event. 

And  Judith,  tired  as  she  was,  roused  to  watch  the 
struggle.  Was  her  sluggish  class  waking  at  last  ?  Was 
Ellis  at  bay  ?  Was  Mather  to  come  forward  and  lead  ? 
Judith  read  the  newspapers,  but  gleaned  only  such 
statements  as:  "Mr.  Fenno  and  Mr.  Branderson  at 
last  control  a  majority  of  street-railroad  votes,"  or 
"Mr.  Watson  has  added  largely  to  his  holdings  of  street- 
railway  stock."  She  knew  these  reports  could  not  be 
true:  the  stock  was  tied  fast  long  ago,  and  Ellis  would 


Time  Begins  His  Revenges  281 

take  every  pains  to  maintain  his  supremacy.  But 
Mather  would  explain  to  her  the  condition  of  affairs. 

Yet  he  came  seldom  to  the  house.  She  knew  that  his 
mind  was  occupied,  he  was  interviewed  and  pestered  on 
all  hands.  Day  by  day  she  read  in  the  papers:  "Mr. 
Mather  refuses  to  make  any  statement."  But  he  might 
speak  to  her.  His  only  desire,  when  he  came  to  call, 
appeared  to  be  to  throw  off  every  care  save  for  her 
health.  She  did  not  like  to  broach  the  important  topic, 
yet  with  repression  her  interest  grew,  and  she  felt  deeply 
disappointed  when,  the  opportunity  being  given  to 
speak  upon  it,  he  was  reserved. 

He  met  her  in  a  street-car,  and  sat  by  her  side.  When 
the  conductor  came  for  his  fare  Mather  nodded  to  him 
and  called  him  by  name.     "Good-day,  Wilson." 

"I've  taken  Mr.  Ellis's  fare  every  day  for  two  years," 
said  the  man,  "yet  I  don't  think  he  knows  me  by  sight. 
Ah,  Mr.  Mather,  if  we  only  had  you  back  there  wouldn't 
be  no  strike." 

Mather  smiled.  "We  were  all  good  friends  in  those 
days." 

The  man  went  away,  and  Judith  asked  as  much  as 
she  dared.     "  How  does  it  seem  to  be  so  in  demand  ? " 

"I'm  not  so  sure  how  much  in  demand  I  am,"  he 
replied,  and  then  spoke  of  other  things. 

She  thought  that  he  was  avoiding  the  subject,  and 
told  herself  that  he  did  not  need  her  any  more.  Far 
away  were  those  days  when  he  sought  her  advice — and 
this  thought  made  her  sigh  occasionally  over  her  work. 
The  tasks  grew  harder  as  she  felt  herself  left  out; 
she  became  eager  to  do  more  than  merely  study,  feeling 
that,  with  so  much  going  on  around  her,  she  was  nothing. 

One  night  when  Mather  came  he  spoke  for  a  while 
with  Pease  privately,  then  hurried  away  without 
waiting  to  see  the  others.     Judith  had  put  her  books 


282  The  Battier 

away;  now  she  took  them  again,  and  went  into  the 
dining-room  to  work.  But  she  could  not  fix  her  mind 
on  her  figures,  and  after  a  while  she  said  aloud  in  the 
room:  "A  month  ago  when  he  came  to  see  me  I  would 
not  stop  work  to  speak  with  him.  Now  when  he  comes 
I  put  away  my  books,  but  he  does  not  wait." 

Then  she  heard  Pease  speaking  with  Beth  in  the 
parlour,  and  heard  George's  name  coupled  with  Ellis's. 
So  Beth  was  learning  all  about  the  plans  !  Smothering  a 
sudden  jealousy,  Judith  determined  to  go  and  ask  what 
had  been  said,  yet  at  the  door  her  resolution  failed  her, 
and  she  turned  back.  Let  others  know,  she  would  go 
without — and  she  appHed  herself  to  her  figures  until  her 
head  swam  with  them.  She  went  unhappily  to  bed  and 
lay  there  thinking. 

Through  her  loneliness  was  rising  a  dread  of  Ellis  as 
an  overhanging  menace ;  she  began  to  fear  that  he  would 
defeat  Mather  a  second  time.  Ellis's  sinister  force 
began  to  oppress  her,  not  only  as  a  cause  of  general  evil, 
but  also  as  threatening  disaster  to  that  friend  whose 
value,  even  whose  excellence,  her  anxieties  were 
teaching  her  to  acknowledge.  As  Judith's  thoughts 
dwelt  on  the  man  in  whom,  without  brilliance  or  the 
stamp  of  genius,  there  was  nothing  false,  nothing  base 
or  mean,  and  nothing  hidden,  Ellis  seemed  like  an 
enemy  who,  once  successful  against  herself,  was  slowly 
approaching  for  an  attack  on  Mather — an  enemy  whose 
skill  she  knew,  whose  resources  she  feared,  and  whose 
mercy  she  doubted.  Dreading  thus  for  Mather,  she 
began  to  tremble  also  for  herself:  she  was  in  Ellis's  debt 
so  deep  that  only  a  miracle  could  ever  clear  her,  while 
every  day  was  rolling  up  the  interest  against  her. 
Where  would  this  end? 

And  through  her  dread  increased  her  loneliness. 
Looking  for  help,   she  found  that   she  must   depend 


Time  Begins  His  Revenges  283 

solely  upon  herself.  Day  by  day  she  had  learned  how- 
small  were  her  powers  beside  the  immense  energies  of 
the  city.  The  definite  fear  of  Ellis  suggested  still  other 
calamities,  vague,  hid  in  the  impenetrable  future;  there 
was  no  misfortune  which  fate  could  not  bring  upon  her, 
no  defense  which  she  could  interpose.  She  was  alone — 
and  suddenly  she  began  to  long  for  companionship,  the 
fellowship  which  some  one  could  give,  which  some  one 
once  offered,  which  then  she  had  refused,  but  which  now 
seemed  more  precious  than  anything  in  the  world. 

Thus  Judith,  in  her  trouble,  was  unmindful  of  the 
power  which  still  was  hers,  and  ignorant  of  the  revenge 
which  she  was  to  take  for  all  of  her  misfortunes.  For 
though  she  felt  herself  so  weak,  it  was  she,  and  she  alone, 
who  brought  on  Ellis  the  strike  which  his  supporters 
were  so  anxious  to  prevent. 

On  a  morning,  the  consequences  of  whose  events  were 
to  reach  far,  going  as  usual  to  her  school  she  passed  ElHs 
in  the  street.  Faltering  and  shocked,  he  stood  still  while 
she  passed.  He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  night  of  her 
rejection  of  him,  and  the  change  in  her  was  startling. 
She  was  in  black,  had  grown  thin  and  pale,  and  her 
spirited  carriage  had  changed  to  the  walk  of  weariness, 
yet  her  beauty  of  face  shone  out  the  clearer,  and  still 
she  was  a  picture  which  men  turned  to  watch.  She  did 
not  notice  Ellis,  but  passed  with  face  set,  eyes  looking  far 
away,  absorbed  in  thought.  When  she  had  gone  from 
his  sight  Ellis  hurried  to  his  offices  and  locked  himself  in 
the  inner  room.  There  for  an  hour  he  walked  up  and 
down,  up  and  down. 

His  clerk  heard  him,  and  dared  not  interrupt  him  for 
small  matters;  the  routine  business  of  the  morning  was 
easily  discharged.  But  about  noon  came  a  deputation 
from  the  street-railway  employees,  asking  to  see  Mr. 
Ellis. 


284  The  Baffief 

The  secretary  Kstened  at  the  door;  ElHs  was  still 
pacing  the  room,  yet  the  matter  was  important.  The 
secretary  knocked. 

"Men  from  the  union  to  see  you,"  he  said  through 
the  door. 

"Tell  them  to  come  again,"  answered  Ellis. 

The  secretary  went  with  this  answer  to  the  deputa- 
tion. The  spokesman  answered:  "We  have  wasted 
enough  time.     We  must  see  him  now  or  not  at  all." 

The  secretary  knocked  again  at  Ellis's  door.  "They 
say  they  must  see  you  now,  sir,"  he  said. 

' '  Send  them  to  the  devil, ' '  Ellis  replied.  The  secretary, 
without  thought  of  the  irony  of  his  interpretation  of  the 
order,  asked  the  men  to  wait.  They  consulted  among 
themselves  and  went  away. 

That  morning  the  cars  on  the  streets  had  run  as 
usual,  but  the  delegates  of  the  union,  returning  angrily 
from  Ellis's  office,  gave  the  order  for  the  men  to  strike. 
As  each  car  returned  to  the  barn  its  crew  left;  by  one 
o'clock  almost  all  the  cars  were  housed.  Then  the 
supporters  of  Ellis  began  to  gather  in  his  outer  office. 
Price  was  there,  Daggett  was  there,  a  dozen  others  as 
well;  they  consulted  anxiously.  Not  one  of  them  had 
expected  that  Ellis  would  let  the  trouble  go  so  far. 

At  last,  with  pale  face  and  fierce  eye,  he  appeared 
among  them.  "Ha,"  he  said  sardonically  when 
he  saw  so  many  of  them.  "What  has  frightened 
youaU?" 

They  told  him  of  the  strike;  there  was  still  one  day, 
they  reminded  him,  before  the  transfer  books  of  the 
road  should  close.  Some  of  his  men  thought  he  was 
staggered  at  the  news,  and  the  hastier,  Price  loudest 
among  them,  begged  him  to  conciliate  the  men. 

But  the  old  fighting  fire  kindled  within  him,  and  he 
stopped  them  with  scorn.     "Don't  be  fools,"  he  said. 


Time  Begins  His  Revenges  285 

"Price,  you're  a  coward.     The  men  will  hit  first,  will 
they  ?     Well,  we'll  give  them  all  they  want ! " 

He  began  to  give  directions  how  to  meet  the  strike, 
and  his  energy  was  communicated  to  them  all,  save  one. 
Even  that  one  applauded  with  the  rest,  and  outwardly 
approved. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
Brings  About  Two  New  Combinations 

For  some  time  Beth  Blanchard  had  been  changing 
back  to  her  old  self.  Once  unburdened  by  confession, 
her  heart  seemed  free  again,  and  Beth  began  to  think  of 
Jim  Wayne  as  a  part  of  a  past  which  could  in  no  way 
affect  her  future.  Sorry  for  him  as  she  was,  with  her 
pity  she  mingled  shame  at  those  remembered  kisses. 
She  found  pleasure  in  the  society  of  Pease,  partly 
because  he  stood  for  so  much  that  Jim  was  not.  Solid, 
sober,  incapable  of  concealment,  his  qualities  gave  her 
satisfaction,  and  the  more  because  she  knew  his  thoughts 
to  be  so  much  of  her.  She  took  to  teasing  him  again,  a 
process  to  which  he  submitted  with  bewildered  delight, 
and  to  which  Miss  Cynthia  made  Judith  a  party  by 
getting  her  out  of  the  room  whenever  Beth  and  Pease 
were  in  it.  Under  such  favouring  circumstances,  which 
would  have  tried  the  stoicism  of  any  one,  Pease  was 
proving  himself  quite  human,  and  was  harbouring  new 
hopes.  He  could  not  fail  to  suspect  that  Beth  mourned 
her  father  more  than  Jim,  and  what  he  imagined  Miss 
Pease  made  sure. 

"You've  never  told  me,  Peveril,"  she  asked  him,  "if 
you  lost  much  by  Mr.  Wayne  ? " 

"Two  weeks'  wages  of  our  men,"  he  answered. 

"Worth  what  you  get  for  it?"  she  asked. 

"What  do  I  get?"  he  inquired. 

"Her!"  she  answered  emphatically. 

"If  you  suppose,"  he  said,  with  an  appearance  of 
286 


Brings  About  Two  New  Gjmbmations         287 

confidence  which  was  utterly  false,  "that  Miss  Blanchard 
will  forget  Mr.  Wayne,  you  are  quite  mistaken." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Miss  Cynthia,  "she  never  will 
forget  him."  Her  cousin's  heart  sank.  "She  thinks  of 
him  every  day"  (Miss  Cynthia  was  watching  him,  and 
made  a  purposeful  pause)  "as  something  that  she  has 
escaped  from.  And  now  the  way  is  open  for  a  man  that 
is  a  man!"     Then  she  smiled  as  she  noted  his  relief. 

The  way  was  indeed  open,  and  the  two  were  progress- 
ing along  it  very  fast,  when  suddenly  a  position  was 
offered  to  Beth.  Old  Mrs.  Grimstone  had,  for  the 
twelfth  time,  lost  her  attendant,  and  some  one  recom- 
mended the  younger  Miss  Blanchard.  It  was  a  hand- 
some offer  that  the  old  lady  made ;  money  was  nothing 
to  her,  and  she  had  learned  that  she  must  pay  high  for 
such  service  as  she  demanded.  For  she  was,  noto- 
riously, the  most  exacting,  crabbed,  fractious  old  woman 
that  ever  wore  false  teeth,  and  any  one  who  attended 
her  lived  a  dog's  life.  Pease  was  utterly  dismayed,  and 
came  to  Judith  to  beg  her  to  prevent  this  calamity. 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  she  asked.  "Mrs.  Grimstone 
offers  a  hundred  dollars  a  month — ^much  more  than 
any  one  else  ever  pays.     How  can  Beth  refuse  ? " 

"Think,"  Pease  adjured  her,  "of  what  she  will  have 
to  bear!" 

"I  think  her  disposition  is  equal  to  it,"  Judith  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  doubt  that,"  he  hurriedly  explained. 
"  But  Mrs.  Grimstone  is  so  rough ! " 

"Beth  seems  to  think  she  must  go,"  was  all  Judith 
could  reply.  "She  usually  knows  her  own  mind,  Mr. 
Pease." 

"She  does,"  he  admitted  mournfully.  But  he  was 
not  subdued,  and  blazed  out  with  a  fitful  courage:  "I 
will  do  my  best  to  prevent  it  I " 

"  Do ! "  said  Judith  heartily. 


288  The  Battier 

Pease  did  his  best ;  knowing  how  weak  he  was  against 
Beth,  he  spent  no  time  in  discussion,  but  rushing  into 
the  subject  he  declared  to  Beth  that  she  ought  not  go  to 
Mrs.  Grimstone,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  Then 
he  stood  breathless  at  his  own  audacity. 

"Ought  not?"  asked  Beth,  surprised  at  such  precipi- 
tation in  one  who  was  usually  so  slow.  "  If  few  persons 
are  willing  to  go  to  Mrs.  Grimstone,  isn't  that  a  very 
good  reason  why  I  should?" 

"It  isn't  that;  it  isn't  that !"  he  replied,  and  wished, 
despairing,  that  he  could  voice  his  thoughts.  But 
Beth's  brown  eyes,  just  a  little  quizzical,  took  away  his 
courage,  and  all  his  impetus  was  spent.  He  gasped 
with  vexation. 

"Then  what  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  smiling  outright. 

"Promise  me  three  days?"  was  all  he  could  say. 

"I'm  busy  now — this    street-railway Oh,    don't 

laugh!"  he  begged  as  Beth's  smile  grew  merrier. 
"Please  promise  me  three  days  !" 

To  his  delight  she  promised,  and  he  went  and  began  to 
draught  a  letter  of  such  importance  that  its  composition 
was  to  take  nearly  all  of  the  seventy-two  hours  which 
she  had  accorded  him.  He  hoped  that  what  he  had 
to  say  would  not  be  too  sudden — ^but  he  need  not  have 
worried.  A  man  cannot  note  a  girl's  every  movement, 
be  solicitous  at  each  little  cold,  know  to  a  minute  the 
calendar  of  her  engagements,  and  gradually  perfect 
himself  in  knowledge  of  her  tastes,  without  declaring 
himself,  unconsciously,  in  every  sentence. 

Upon  this  pleasant  by-play  Judith  smiled,  yet  knew 
that  her  future  would  change  with  Beth's.  For  if  Beth 
went  to  Mrs.  Grimstone,  Judith  must  find  work;  she 
could  no  longer  bear  the  consciousness  that  she  was  not 
earning.  A  little  envy  stirred  in  her,  as  she  feared  that 
she  covld  not  possibly,  in  spite  of  all  her  preparation, 


Brings  At)0«t  Two  New  Combinations         289 

earn  so  much  as  Beth.  In  this  behef  the  principal  of 
her  school  confirmed  her  when  she  asked  him  if  he 
could  not  find  her  a  position. 

"You  understand  that  with  your  experience  your 
salary  will  be  small  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"Have  I  not  done  well  since  I  came?"  she  inquired. 

"I  never  had  a  better  pupil,"  he  replied.  "But  a 
few  more  months,  Miss  Blanchard " 

"How  much  could  I  earn  to  begin  with?"  she  per- 
sisted. 

"Forty  dollars  a  month,"  he  answered. 

"So  Uttle?"  she  asked,  disappointed. 

*  *  Perhaps  fifty,  if  you  have  luck, ' '  he  conceded.  ' '  But 
you'd  better  wait." 

"I  can't,"  Judith  answered.  "Will  you  tell  me  of 
any  chance  that  you  hear  of?" 

He  promised  that  he  would,  yet  gave  her  no  immediate 
hope  of  a  position.  Judith  was  depressed;  more  and 
more  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  nothing,  and  her 
debt  loomed  large  before  her  eyes.  It  seemed  a  great 
weight  to  carry — alone. 

Nevertheless,  she  maintained  her  interest  in  the  great 
combination  against  Ellis,  cotild  not  fail  to  maintain  it, 
for  soon  came  the  strike.  It  was  an  orderly  strike  and 
a  good-natured  public;  people  were  saying  cheerfully 
that  the  cars  would  be  running  again  in  a  week,  when 
Mr.  Mather  was  president;  but  believing  that  no  one 
could  be  sure  of  that,  and  ignorant  of  her  own  deep 
influence,  Judith  wished  for  the  fiftieth  time  that  she 
could  learn  how  matters  stood.  The  vagueness  and 
uncertainty  were  wearing  her. 

And  at  last  came  the  information.  At  the  supper 
table,  on  the  evening  of  the  strike,  Pease  seemed  as 
untroubled  as  usual,  and  as  genial.  Miss  Cynthia 
broke  in  upon  his  calm. 


ago  The  Bartief 

"Peveril,"  she  demanded,  "what  do  the  men  hope  to 
gain  by  striking  now  ? " 

"To-morrow,"  he  explained,  "the  transfer  books 
close.  Only  to-morrow's  holders  of  stock  can  vote  at 
the  meeting  a  week  hence." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  see.  The  men  hope  to  scare  some 
of  Ellis's  supporters  into  selling  out." 

He  nodded.     "The  men  have  very  clever  leaders." 

"And  will  this  help  you?" 

"I  hope  so." 

She  followed  up  the  indirect  admission.  "Then  you 
need  help?" 

"Get  me  forty  shares,"  he  said,  "and  the  matter  is 

settled.     But "  he  realised  that  he  was  talking  shop. 

"The  butter,  please,  Cynthia?" 

"Well,"  she  said  in  triumph,  as  she  passed  the  dish, 
"I  have  at  last  learned  something  from  you." 

"Good!"  he  returned,  undisturbed.  "And  I'll  tell 
you  this  much  more,  that  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea 
where  I  can  find  those  forty  shares." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  dismayed.  "What  does  Mr. 
Mather  think?" 

"Mather  knows  nothing  about  it,"  said  Pease.  "His 
friends  are  working  for  him  without  his  knowledge, 
because  they  have  never  been  sure  that  they  could  help 
him." 

Judith,  listening  to  the  talk,  told  herself  that  Mather 
would  never  be  president  of  the  road;  she  had  heard 
Ellis  describe  the  little  ring  of  men  who  stood  solidly 
around  him — ^men  whom  he  had  made.  That  ring  would 
never  be  broken.  Yet  amid  her  disappointment  she 
felt  relief.  Mather  had  never  told  her  of  the  projects 
of  his  friends  because,  like  herself,  he  had  not  been  sure 
of  them. 

Before  the  meal  was  ended  Mr.  Fenno  came — only  for 


Bfingfs  About  Two  New  G>mbinations         291 

a  minute,  he  said,  and  bade  them  not  to  rise.  Judith 
admired  the  picture  that  he  made  as  he  stood  and  talked 
with  Pease;  his  white  hair  and  mustache  seemed 
whiter  still  by  contrast  with  his  coal-black  eyebrows, 
while  the  dead  black-and-white  evening  clothes  were 
relieved  by  the  soft  sable  which  lined  his  overcoat.  He 
questioned  Pease  with  his  accustomed  bluntness. 

"No  go?" 

"Nothing  yet,"  Pease  answered. 

"Ah,  he's  clever!"  said  Mr.  Fenno,  to  which  en- 
comium of  Ellis  Pease  assented  by  a  nod,  but  seemed 
not  inclined  to  pursue  the  subject  further.  Then  the 
servant,  entering,  announced  that  Mr.  Price  was  at  the 
door,  asking  for  Mr.  Pease.  As  Pease  started  from  his 
seat  his  inquiring  glance  met  Fenno's.  The  old  man 
knit  his  heavy  brows. 

"Do  you  suppose "  he  said. 

"May  be!"  Pease  answered  with  visible  excitement. 

"He  must  see  you  alone,"  added  the  maid. 

"Show  him  into  the  parlour,"  Pease  directed.  For 
a  minute  he  was  alone  with  the  jeweller;  Fenno,  for- 
getting the  presence  of  the  ladies,  stared  after  him  and 
waited.     Then  Pease  returned. 

"Can  we  have  you  with  us,  Mr.  Penno?"  he  asked. 

The  three  shut  themselves  up  in  the  parlour.  Judith, 
as  she  controlled  her  deep  interest,  felt  how  often  it  was 
now  her  part  to  wait.  But  at  last  the  parlour  door 
opened  again,  and  voices  were  heard.  It  was  Price  who 
spoke  first. 

"You  understand,  Mr.  Pease — ^my  family " 

"Yes,  yes,"  Pease  answered. 

"And  my  position,  you  see,"  the  explanation  con- 
tinued. Judith  saw  the  jeweller,  bowing  and  rubbing 
his  hands  together  nervously. 

"Yes,"   repeated  Pease  shortly,   opening  the  outer 


ag2  The  Barrier 

door  for  him.  "At  my  office,  Mr.  Price,  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning." 

The  door  shut  on  the  jeweller,  and  the  two  others 
came  into  the  dining-room.  Pease  looked  glum,  the 
older  man  scornful,  and  in  absorption  they  spoke  before 
the  others. 

"It  is  settled,  then,"  Mr.  Fenno  said  grimly. 

"I  feel,"  responded  Pease,  "  as  if  I  had  touched  pitch." 

'  *  You  will  get  over  it , "  was  the  cynical  retort.  * '  Now, 
then,  to  finish  all  this  up.     Can  you  answer  for  Mather  ? " 

Pease  shook  his  head.  "He  must  answer  for  him- 
self." 

"He  shall,  to-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Fenno.  "What  do 
you  say  to  a  meeting  at  my  office — all  of  us  ? " 

"You  will  need  all,"  Pease  answered. 

"We  can  settle  everything,"  went  on  Fenno  in  his 
heavy  voice.  "We  will  have  it  all  in  writing — I'll  have 
a  stenographer  on  hand." 

A  stenographer !  Judith  started  with  eagerness,  and 
Mr.  Fenno  turned  to  her.  "What  do  you  say?"  he 
asked.     "Will  you  help  us  ? " 

Her  eyes  sparkled.     "Gladly  ! "  she  cried. 

"Gk>od!"  he  said  bluffiy.  "Nine  o'clock  at  my 
office.  Pease,  have  everybody  there,  except  Mather,  at 
three;  George  at  half-past."  Pease  nodded,  and  Mr. 
Fenno  smote  him  on  the  shoulder.  "Come,  cheer  up, 
man !     Everything  is  clear  at  last." 

But  Pease  could  not  smile.  "In  such  a  way!"  he 
grumbled. 

"Through  no  fault  of  ours."  Then  Mr.  Fenno  turned 
to  Beth.  "Beth,  I  leave  him  to  you."  And  next  he 
looked  on  Judith  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner, 
losing  both  his  animation  and  his  cynicism,  and  becom- 
ing very  grave.  "To-morrow,"  he  said,  "you  shall  see 
what  you  have  done." 


Brings  About  Two  NeW  G)mbinations         293 

"I?"  she  asked  in  astonishment.  "I,  sir?"  But  he 
merely  nodded,  and  hastened  away. 

And  Pease  was  left  to  Beth.  Reminded  by  Fenno's 
words  that  his  three  days  were  nearly  at  an  end,  he  for- 
got Price,  forgot  Mather,  and  remembered  only  a  letter 
which  suddenly  seemed  to  be  burning  a  hole  in  his 
pocket.  Miss  Cynthia  and  Judith  left  him  alone  in  the 
parlour  with  Beth,  who  for  a  while  watched  with  amuse- 
ment his  nervous  movements  about  the  room.  She 
tried  to  make  him  talk,  but  failed. 

"Something  is  very  much  on  your  mind,"  she  said 
at  last. 

"Everything  is!"  he  exclaimed  in  desperation,  and 
dragged  out  the  letter.  "Won't  you — will  you — read 
this,  to-night?"  He  put  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"Why  do  you  go  ? "  she  asked  innocently,  opening  the 
envelope. 

He  had  reached  the  threshold.     "I  will  come  again." 

But  she  poised  the  paper  in  her  hand  and  looked  at 
him  reflectively.  "I  don't  think  you'd  better  go,"  she 
said,  and  then  added  positively,  "No,  I  can't  have  you 
go.     Please  sit  down  in  that  chair." 

Obeying  the  nod  of  her  determined  little  head,  he 
dragged  himself  from  the  door,  sat  down,  and  watched 
her  miserably  while  she  studied  his  letter.  She  read  it 
once,  and  sat  with  pursed  lips;  she  read  it  again,  and 
knit  her  brows;  she  read  it  a  third  time  and  looked 
at  him  thoughtfully.  Then  she  read  parts  of  it 
aloud. 

"I  apprehend  much  unhappiness  to  you  in  your 
proposed  occupation  .  .  .  Admirable  qualities — 
tender  nature  .  .  .  Am  emboldened  to  say  what 
otherwise  I  might  not  ...  if  you  will  give  your- 
self into  my  care,  I  will  promise  you  that  so  far  as  it  is 


394  The  Bamer 

possible  for  a  man  to  avert  them,  you  will  never  know 
trouble  or  need " 

She  broke  off,  and  looked  at  him,  "  This  is  a  proposal 
of  marriage,  Mr.  Pease?" 

He  shivered.     "I  meant  it  so." 

She  put  the  letter  in  her  lap  with  a  regretful  sigh.  "  I 
thought  that  when  a  man  asked  a  girl  to  marry  him  he 
always  said  something  about — his  feelings  for  her." 

"  But  respect,  admiration — "  he  was  beginning  eagerly. 

"Oh,"  she  interrupted,  "those  go  without  saying. 
And  I  understand,"  she  glanced  at  the  letter,  "that  you 
write  this  only  because  you  wish  to  relieve  me  of  work. 
It  is  very  good  of  you  to  sacrifice  yourself." 

"  It  is  no  sacrifice  !"  he  cried. 

She  folded  the  note  and  thrust  it  into  its  envelope. 
"I  never  believed,"  she  said  emphatically,  "in  proposals 
by  letter." 

"I  am  sorry,"  faltered  miserable  Pease. 

"And  what  you  say,"  continued  Beth,  holding  the 
note  out  for  him  to  take,  "is  not  my  idea  of  the  essentials 
of  a  proposal." 

He  came  and  received  the  letter,  but  could  answer 
nothing. 

"I  think,"  Beth  set  forth  reflectively,  "that  just  two 
things  are  necessary  to  a  proposal:  a  statement  and  a 
question.  A  man  need  only  say:  'I  love  you.  Will 
you  marry  me?'  Just  seven  words — no  more."  She 
folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  looked  at  him  innocently, 
and  waited. 

Gazing  at  her,  fascinated,  slowly  he  grew  red.  An 
idea  found  lodgment,  worked  deeper,  penetrated  to  the 
springs  of  action.  He  crushed  the  letter  in  his  hand. 
' '  I  love  you  !"  he  cried.     "  Will  you  marry  me  ? " 

She  dimpled  into  smiles.     "Yes,"  said  little  Beth. 


CHAPTER  XXXn 
Which  Is  in  Somb  Respects  Satisfactory 

Judith  sat  in  Mr,  Fenno's  little  office,  while  in  the 
larger  room  the  magnates  were  slowly  gathering.  She 
was  deeply  interested  in  the  result  of  the  coming  meeting, 
a  Httle  anxious  as  well,  on  account  of  the  last  words 
which  Mr,  Fenno  had  said  to  her. 

"Do  you  think  George  will  accept?"  he  had  asked. 

"Why  should  he  not?"  she  returned,  startled. 

"You  see  no  reason?"  were  his  words  as  he  left  her. 

She  puzzled  to  find  a  reason  until,  in  the  outer  office, 
Mr.  Fenno's  deep  voice  began  to  address  the  httle 
meeting.  Before  him  sat,  in  two  groups,  the  financiers 
and  the  reform  pohticians,  whose  interests  were  to  be 
reconciled.  They  had,  between  them,  the  power  to 
make  a  new  railway  president  and  a  new  mayor,  but 
never  yet  had  the  two  groups  of  men  worked  together. 

"We  all  know  why  we  are  here,"  Mr.  Fenno  began. 
"A  holy  crusade  is  our  object — or  the  protection  of  our 
interests." 

"It  is  not  your  interests  that  influence  you,"  said 
one  of  the  reformers.  "We  are  glad  to  see,  Mr.  Fenno, 
that  you  are  moved  by  righteous  indignation.  This 
recent  tragedy — "  But  Mr.  Fenno  stopped  him  by  a 
sudden  gesture. 

"My  stenographer,"  and  he  emphasised  the  word, 
"my  stenographer  is  within  hearing.  If  we  require  any 
other  agreements  than  I  have  prepared,  she  can  copy 
them."   He  saw  the  glances  which  his  friends  exchanged 

295 


296  The  Baffict 

at  the  news  of  Judith's  presence;  moved  by  the  sudden 
reference  to  her  misfortunes,  his  heavy  voice  trembled 
as  he  proceeded.  "We  all  have  our — wrongs  to  avenge, 
and  a  good  friend  to  place  in  his  proper  position. 
Before  Mr.  Mather  comes,  suppose  we  arrive  at  an 
understanding." 

"Suppose,"  rejoined  the  leader  of  the  reformers, 
"Mr.  Fenno  makes  a  statement  of  his  expectations. 
It  seems  to  me,"  he  said  when  the  explanation  was 
forthcoming,  "that  the  Good  Government  League  is 
expected  to  give  more  than  it  receives." 

"It  is  more  blessed "  quoted  Mr.  Fenno  drily. 

"Can't  we,"  put  in  Pease  mildly,  "give  concessions  on 
either  side  ?     I  think  we  need  each  other." 

"It  is  just  this,"  said  Mr.  Fenno  to  the  reformers: 
"Lend  us  your  candidate  to  straighten  out  our  tangle, 
and  we'll  lend  him  back  to  straighten  yours." 

"Is  it  possible,"  was  the  doubtful  question,  "that  a 
president  of  the  street-railroad  can  stand  for  mayor 
without  raising  suspicion  of  his  motives  ? " 

"Mather  can,"  answered  Pease  promptly. 

"Certainly  with  less  suspicion  than  Ellis  arouses," 
supplemented  Mr.  Fenno.  "Come,  will  you  lose  a 
chance  to  defeat  Ellis  on  his  first  line  of  battle  ?  He  will 
be  beaten  all  the  easier  on  his  second." 

"We  are  thinking  of  Mr.  Mather's  standing  before  the 
public,"  repHed  the  reformers.  "He  must  resign  from 
your  presidency  as  soon  as  we  nominate  him." 

"Very  well." 

"That  suits  you?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will  release  him  from  his  promise  to  you 
now." 

"We  will,  if  you  will  support  him  then." 

"Here  is  an  agreement  covering  these  points,"  said 
Mr.  Fenno.     "  Shall'  we  put  our  names  to  this  ? " 


Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Satisfactory        297 

It  was  on  a  scene  of  paper-signing,  then,  that  Mather 
entered.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  looked  up  and  nodded 
to  him;  others — ^they  were  all  his  seniors — continued 
passing  the  papers  around  the  table.  He  paused  with 
his  hand  upon  the  door-knob. 

"Am  I  in  the  way?"  he  asked. 

"Everything  is  decided  without  you,"  answered  Mr. 
Fenno.  "We  have  merely  disposed  of  your  time  for 
the  next  eighteen  months." 

Mather  laughed,  threw  off  his  coat,  and  took  a  chair. 
They  explained  matters  to  him;  in  her  seclusion  Judith 
listened  long  before  she  heard  him  say  a  word.  Then 
he  began  to  ask  questions,  deep  and  far-reaching,  but 
every  difficulty  had  been  considered  beforehand. 

"And  my  obligations  to  you,  Mr.  Pease?"  he  said 
once.  "I  was  not  to  quit  the  Electrolytic  Company 
until  the  fall." 

"I  have  arranged  all  that,"  Pease  replied.  "The  new 
Chebasset  manager  is  very  satisfactory ;  we  will  promote 
him." 

"Well,  what  do  you  say?"  asked  Fenno,  when  every 
point  had  been  covered. 

Mather  sat  thoughtful  for  a  while.  "I  may  under- 
stand," he  asked  at  length,  "that  your  proposition 
amounts  to  approval  of  my  former  course  as  president 
of  the  street-railway  ? " 

They  assured  him  that  it  did. 

"I  should  pursue,"  he  next  said,  "the  same  policy. 
In  place  of  Mr.  Ellis's  subway  bill,  which  was  this 
morning  thrown  out  of  the  legislature,  I  shovdd  at  once 
introduce  another." 

"Different  in  plan?"  some  one  inquired. 

"Quite,"  Mather  answered,  smiling.  " Having  no  real 
estate  to  condemn  at  high  prices,  I  have  no  desire  for  the 
privilege  of  eminent  domain." 


298  The  Barrier 

"Have  you  any  objection,"  they  asked  him,  "to 
serving  in  these  two  positions  in  such  quick  succession  ?  " 

He  smiled  again.  "Are  you  sure  you  can  elect  me  to 
either?" 

"Suppose  we  can?"  returned  Mr.  Fenno. 

"Supposing  you  can,"  began  Mather — then  stopped 
to  think. 

"Well?"  demanded  Mr.  Fenno  after  a  moment's 
impatience. 

Mather  roused  himself.  "Supposing  that  you  can 
elect  me,"  he  said  seriously,  "there  is  just  one  thing  I 
wish  to  lay  before  you — a  statement  of  my  personal 
feelings.  We  all  know  each  other  well,  we  have  the 
same  interests,  we  know  and  say  things  which  are 
not  given  to  the  public.  I  wish  to  define  my  position 
exactly."  He  paused  and  looked  at  the  attentive  faces. 
In  her  little  office  Judith  asked  herself  with  sudden 
alarm:     "Will  he  refuse?" 

"The  personal  element,"  he  went  on,  "has  recently 
entered  into  my  relations  with  Mr.  Ellis.  There  are 
distresses  which  I  and — friends  of  mine,  have  suffered 
through  him,  by  actions  which  make  him  morally,  if  not 
legally,  criminal.  Some  of  you  know  that  what  I  say 
is  true." 

He  looked  at  Pease,  who  nodded ;  Fenno  did  the  same, 
but  no  one  spoke.  Mather  began  again  with  increasing 
energy,  yet  slowly,  struggling  for  an  exact  statement 
of  his  position.  "I  have,"  he  said,  "and  acknowledge 
freely,  reason  for  the  bitterest  personal  dislike  of  Mr. 
ElUs.  And  for  that  reason,  considering  the  possibiUty 
of  the  proposals  which  you  make  to  me,  it  has  sometimes 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  ought  to  refuse  you " 

"  You  must  consider "  cried  Pease,  half  rising  from 

his  chair.     But  Mather  held  up  a  hand  to  stay  him. 

"And  yet,"  he  said,  as  Pease  sank  back  again,  "I 


Which.  Is  in  Some  Respects  Satisfactory-        299 

recognise  the  situation  here.  Long  ago  I  expressed  my 
disapproval  of  Mr.  Ellis  as  a  public  man,  and  opposed 
him  before — certain  circumstances  arose.  Besides,  I 
am  the  man  (excuse  me  if  I  say  it)  that  best  can  meet 
this  strike;  and  again,  a  successful  fight  must  be  made 
for  mayor  in  the  fall.  I  believe  that  I  can  win  there  for 
you.  So  if  it  comes  to  a  question  between  my  personal 
feelings  and  my  duties  as  a  citizen,  then — if  you  will 
believe  my  honesty  in  this  confession,  and  in  trusting 
myself  to  oppose  Mr.  Ellis  without  vindictiveness — if 
you  will  believe  this,  and  will  fight  him  with  me  not  as 
a  man  but  as  a  force,  an  evil  force,  then  I  will  sign  this 
document  with  you." 

In  her  little  room  Judith  found  herself  trembling  in 
response  to  the  emotion  which  had  vibrated  in  his  voice ; 
but  in  the  larger  office  the  gentlemen  rose  from  their 
chairs,  crowded  around  Mather,  and  in  enthusiasm 
promised  him  their  support.  No  one  noticed  the  noise 
of  the  opening  of  the  outer  door;  it  was  a  full  minute 
before  the  first  of  them  perceived  the  figure  which, 
attentive  and  sneering,  watched  them.     It  was  Ellis, 

He  heard  their  words  and  knew  their  purposes,  yet  he 
had  guessed  beforehand  what  they  had  gathered  there 
to  do.  By  one  of  those  bold  strokes  which  had  so  often 
succeeded  for  him,  he  had  come  among  them  in  the 
attempt  to  conciliate  a  strong  minority.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  arouse  consternation,  yet  on  perceiving  him 
they  looked  at  each  other  as  if  welcoming  his  presence. 
Still  ignorant  of  Price's  treachery,  he  did  not  understand 
the  sign. 

"Twelve  good  men  and  true,"  he  said,  coming  for- 
ward.    "Is  this  an  inquest ? " 

"A  funeral,"  Mr.  Fenno  replied.  "Some  one  whom 
we  know  is  dead  and  cold.  Will  you  not  pronounce  the 
benediction  ? " 


300  The  Batfier 

"Ah,  I  am  not  qualified,"  Ellis  said.  "But  learning 
that  you  were  here  in  great  distress  of  mind,  I  came  to 
see  if  I  could  not  relieve  you.  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
the  interruption?" 

"Willingly,"  Mr.  Fenno  answered,  with  much  cheer- 
fulness. 

Then  Ellis  changed  his  tone;  dropping  the  banter,  he 
looked  upon  them  frankly.  "Seriously,  I  understand 
that  you  are  here  to  discuss  what  you  regard  as  mis- 
management in  the  street-railway.  I  know  I  come 
without  invitation,  yet  I  wish  to  make  an  offer.  You 
have  large  interests  in  the  road,  I  dislike  to  exclude  a 
minority  from  any  voice  in  affairs,  and  so  I  came  to  say 
that  if  you  wish  more  representation  on  the  next  board 
of  directors " 

"Then  we  shall  have  it?"  interrupted  Mr.  Fenno. 
"Gentlemen,  is  not  Mr.  Ellis  very  kind ? " 

Ellis  noted  the  sustained  irony,  and  as  those  present 
murmured  their  responses  to  the  question  he  saw  in 
them  no  conciHatory  spirit.  They  looked  at  him  with 
that  inquiring  reserve  which  was  not  difficult  to  meet  in 
them  singly,  but  which,  thus  directed  at  him  by  a  group 
of  the  blue-bloods,  became  irritatingly  oppressive.  And 
there  was  more  in  its  meaning  than  ever  before.  Sud- 
denly he  asked  himself  if  these  men  could  be  stronger 
than  he  had  thought.  He  had  been  very  busy  all  the 
morning  with  messages  to  and  from  the  capital  in  regard 
to  his  bill,  and  with  the  strike.  If  anything  had  hap- 
pened on  exchange 

The  serious  voice  of  Pease  began  to  speak.  "I 
imagine  that  Mr.  Ellis,  in  studying  the  market  reports 
to-day,  failed  to  remark  a  transfer  which  was  recorded 
three  minutes  before  the  closing  time.  Otherwise  he 
would  scarcely  have  come  here." 

The  inquiring  glances   of  the   others   grew  keener, 


Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Satisfactory        301 

pressing  upon  Ellis  almost  physically  as  those  present 
watched  for  the  effect  of  Pease's  words.  Standing  alone 
against  them,  Ellis  felt  a  sudden, sense  of  impending 
calamity,  between  his  temples  a  pressure  began,  and  in 
the  silence  his  voice  was  scarcely  audible  as  in  spite  of 
himself  he  asked  hoarsely:     "What  do  you  mean?" 

"History,"  answered  Pease  slowly — never  in  his  life 
before  had  he  been  deliberately  cruel — "history,  Mr. 
Ellis,  has  taught  some  valuable  lessons,  of  which  I 
should  Hke  to  call  two  to  your  attention.  One  is  that 
some  great  men  meet  their  Waterloo,  the  other  that 
some  little  men  have  their — Price  !" 

Something  flashed  before  Ellis's  eyes,  and  in  that 
flash  he  saw  the  whole  treachery.  His  head  dropped, 
his  eyes  closed,  and  his  jaw  shut  convulsively.  "Price ! 
Price !"  he  hissed. 

Then  in  an  instant  he  stood  upright  and  faced  them 
without  flinching.  Though  he  saw  the  whole  meaning 
of  the  news,  though  he  realised  the  power  of  the  caste 
which,  so  long  supine,  at  last  had  risen  up  against  him, 
even  though  he  knew  he  faced  two  great  defeats,  he 
looked  upon  his  adversaries,  and  they  saw  courage  in 
his  glance.     He  turned  to  Mather. 

"Mather,"  said  Ellis,  "you  think  you've  got  me." 

He  felt,  as  that  same  quiet  glance  looked  down  on  him, 
the  continual  irritation  of  it,  the  impossibility  of  ever 
attaining  that  superb  indifference.  And  then  the 
answer:  "For  the  present  I  have."  Would  they  never 
boast,  these  aristocrats — never  threaten?  First,  de- 
spising him,  they  had  left  him  alone;  even  now  when 
they  turned  on  him  they  still  looked  down  on  him.  A 
torrei^t  of  words  rushed  to  his  lips,  and  yet,  feeling  how 
powerless  he  was  to  impress  those  silent,  attentive 
spectators,  he  checked  himself. 

"For  the  present !"  he  repeated,  and  turned  to  go. 


302  The  Barrier 

In  his  unfamiliar  surroundings  he  mistook  the  door 
and  opened  one  leading  into  a  little  office  where,  facing 
him  across  a  table,  he  saw — ^who  was  that?  Pale, 
intent,  startled  at  his  entrance,  Judith  Blanchard  rose 
and  confronted  him.  For  a  moment  he  stared  as  at  a 
portent. 

Then  quickly  he  closed  the  door  and  turned  to  the 
men  at  his  back.  Fenno  and  Pease  had  started  forward ; 
with  Mather,  they  were  the  nearest  to  him.  He  eyed 
them  one  by  one.  "So,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  Uttle 
room,  "that  is  why  you  are  all  here  ! " 

They  made  no  answer.  "Because  I  wish  to  enter 
your  homes,  is  it,"  he  asked,  "that  you  combine  against 
me?     Because  I  nearly  succeeded,  I  frightened  you?" 

Mather  did  not  understand,  Pease  and  Fenno  had  no 
reply  to  make,  but  Ellis,  feeling  with  pain  that  he  had 
pronounced  a  truth  against  himself,  waited  for  no 
answer.  "But  wait!"  he  cried,  stamping,  "I  have 
avoided  you,  favoured  you  at  times,  but  now  I  am  against 
you  in  everything.  I  will  go  out  of  my  way  to  meet  you. 
What  you  wish,  I  shall  oppose;  what  you  build,  I  shall 
throw  down ;  what  you  bring  in,  I  shall  throw  out ! 
For  everything  you  win,  you  must  pay ;  I  will  weary  you 
of  fighting.  I  will  plan  while  you  sleep,  act  while  you 
rest,  work  while  you  play.  Your  virtue  shall  be  a  load 
to  you,  and  I  will  tire  your  vigilance ! " 

He  flung  his  phrases  like  bombs,  to  burst  among  his 
adversaries;  casting  his  prophecies  in  their  faces,  he 
startled  his  opponents  from  their  reserve.  Then, 
turning,  he  rushed  from  the  office,  leaving  them  staring 
at  each  other  as  if  a  whirlwind  had  passed. 

One  by  one  Mather's  supporters  left  the  office,  each 
renewing  his  promise  of  assistance,  yet  each  subdued 
by  the  thoughts  aroused  by  Ellis's  amazing  words.     For 


Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Satisfactoty        303 

they  recognised  a  challenge  which  would  be  hard  to 
meet — to  be  as  persistent  in  their  efforts  as  Ellis  shotdd 
be  with  his,  to  meet  his  subtlety,  to  foresee  his  plans, 
to  counteract  his  influence,  to  expose  his  methods. 
And  having  businesses,  having  famiHes,  loving  repose 
and  pleasure,  only  the  reformers,  those  modem  Puritans, 
could  promise  the  self-denial  necessary  to  meet  Elhs's 
unceasing  activities. 

Pease,  Fenno,  and  Mather  at  last  remained  in  the 
office.  "Tremendous  ! "  sighed  Pease,  breaking  a  period 
of  thought  which  the  departure  of  ElHs  had  inaugurated 
for  him. 

"Tremendous!"  repeated  Fenno. 

"Are  we  equal  to  it  ? "  asked  Mather  seriously. 

Mr.  Fenno  recovered  his  cynicism.  "Sufficient  to 
the  day  is  its  weevil,"  he  answered.  "  Grubs  breed  fast, 
but  they  can  be  killed.     I  am  going  home." 

The  three  put  on  their  coats.  "We  are  going  the 
same  way,  I  suppose  ? "  Mather  remarked. 

"Pease  and  I  have  something  to  talk  over,"  replied 
Mr.  Fenno.  "Yes  we  have,  Pease!  None  of  your 
confounded  straightforwardness.  You  must  give  us  a 
start,  George;  five  minutes'  law,  if  you  please.  And  I 
should  like  you  to  wait,"  he  pointed  to  the  door  of  the 
inner  office,  "in  that  room.     Good -evening." 

"Good-evening,"  repeated  Pease,  and  followed  Mr. 
Fenno  out. 

Thought  Mather:     "What  under  the  sun "     He 

opened  the  door  of  the  little  room.     "Judith  ! " 

There  she  sat  and  looked  at  him;  on  her  cheeks  were 
traces  of  tears,  but  her  eyes  were  bright  as  they  met  his. 
He  looked  from  her  to  the  uncovered  typewriter,  the 
pencils  and  note-book.  "So  it  was  you,"  he  said,  "that 
Ellis  saw  before  he  turned  upon  us  so?" 

She  nodded,  looking  on  him  silently. 


304  The  Barrier 

"What  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  coming  a  step  nearer.  "You 
look — ^Judith,  are  you  ill?" 

Suddenly  she  rose  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him. 
"Oh,  George,"  she  cried,  "I  am  so  glad  for  you  !" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  relieved,  "I  was  afraid  that — Judith, 
you  have  been  crying.  Is  anything  wrong?  Was  the 
work  hard  ? ' '  She  shook  her  head.  ' '  Then  this  meeting 
has  distressed  you?" 

Unashamed,  she  wiped  her  cheeks.     "It  is  not  that." 

"  Come  to  the  window,"  he  said,  for  the  early  twilight 
was  falHng.  But  when  he  studied  her  in  the  stronger 
light  he  saw  nothing  in  her  eyes  except  a  resolute  cheer- 
fulness; the  unwonted  pink  in  her  cheeks  might  be  the 
reflection  of  the  sunset  glow. 

"Nothing  is  wrong  with  me,"  she  said,  and  took  her 
jacket  from  the  hook  on  the  wall.  "I  suppose  Mr. 
Fenno  will  not  want  me  any  more  to-day,  so  I  may  as 
well  go  home."  Yet  while  Mather  helped  her  to  put  on 
the  jacket,  the  knowledge  that  he  was  studying  her  set 
her  nerves  to  trembling,  and  it  was  by  an  effort  that  she 
controlled  herself. 

"You  are  under  some  strain,"  he  said  with  decision. 
"Did  Ellis  frighten  you?" 

She  answered,  "I  have  no  fear  of  him."  Drawing  her 
gloves  from  her  pocket,  she  tried  to  put  them  on,  but 
her  hands  trembled  visibly.  She  abandoned  the  attempt 
at  concealment,  and  turned  to  him. 

"It's  just  that  I'm  glad  for  you,  George,  and  proud  of 
you,  and — I've  been  making  an  acknowledgment  to 
myself,  that's  all.     Now  shall  we  go  home  ? " 

But  he  took  her  hand  and  kept  her  face  toward  the 
window.  "I  should  like  to  hear  that  acknowledgment, 
if  I  may?" 

Perhaps  the  colours  deepened  in  the  sky;  at  any 
rate,   her   cheeks  grew   rosier    as    she    looked    away 


Which  Is  in  Some  Respects  Satisfactory        305 

from  him,  out  above  the  roofs.     "If  you  wish  to  know," 
she  answered. 

"I  wish  it  very  much." 

She  folded  her  hands  before  her  tightly;  they  showed 
white  against  her  dress.  "No  one  else  will  hear,"  she 
began  uncertainly,  "although  every  one  else  heard  your 
confession,  George.  I  heard,  and  somehow  you  set  me 
thinking  of  the  time  we  met  in  the  Golf  Club,  long  ago, 
last  April." 

"Last  April,"  he  repeated,  and  added  with  meaning, 
**Long  ago." 

Her  voice  grew  stronger.  ' '  I  will  tell  you  everything, ' ' 
she  said.  "You  will  see  what  a  foolish  girl  I  have  been — 
how  proud  I  was.  We  spoke  then  of  the  world,  and  you 
warned  me  of  it;  you  said  that  it  was  very  big,  and 
strong,  and  merciless." 

"I  remember,"  Mather  said. 

" But  I  did  not  believe,"  Judith  went  on.  "I  thought 
that  you — ^you  had  just  lost  this  presidency,  George — I 
thought  that  you  were  cowed.  And  I  thought  that  I 
was  braver  than  you,  and  stronger  than  you,  and  I 
believed  that  I — I,  George ! — could  conquer  the 
world!" 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  amazement  at  herself; 
gravely  attentive,  he  did  not  speak.  Then  she  pointed 
down  at  her  black  dress,  swept  her  hand  toward  the 
typewriter,  and  exclaimed:  "And  this  is  the  result! 
But  I  know  myself  now,  George,  and  I  am  glad  you  made 
me  say  this,  for  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon." 

"There  is  no  need  of  that,"  he  answered. 

"Then,"  she  asked,  "shall  we  go?" 

"Not  yet,"  he  repHed.  But  he  continued  looking  at 
her  without  saying  more,  and  to  cover  her  embarrass- 
ment she  said: 

"Just  let  me  tell  you  first  that  Mr.  Fenno  has  engaged 


3o6  The  Batfiet 

me  permanently,  and  I  feel  that  I  have  started  a  new 
life,  George." 

She  was  attempting  to  be  gay,  a  difficult  task  in  the 
face  of  his  continued  serious  scrutiny ;  but  to  her  relief  he 
spoke,  "A  new  life  ?  Why,  that  leads  to  an  old  subject, 
Judith.  And  what  you  have  said  makes  me  hope  that 
some  day  I  may  begin  a  new  life,  too." 

"Yours  begins  next  week,"  she  said,  "with  the  stock- 
holders' meeting." 

"It  begins,"  he  returned,  "whenever  you  say  the 
word."  She  turned  abruptly  aside  from  him  and  looked 
out  of  the  window ;  there  could  now  be  no  doubt  whence 
came  the  colour  that  flooded  her  face  and  even  touched 
her  ears  with  coral.     He  came  close  to  her  side. 

"See,"  he  said,  pointing  out  the  window.  "The  sun 
is  going  down.  Shall  it  not  rise  again  on  a  new  life  for 
us  both?" 

" George,"  she  answered,  "how  can  I  marry  any  one ? " 

"You  are  thinking,"  he  asked,  "of  your  debt  to 
Ellis?" 

She  nodded.     "  How  can  I  so  burden  you  ? " 

He  laughed.  "I  can  pay  the  money  out  of  hand;  I 
can  earn  it  again  in  three  years.  Jacob  served  seven 
years  for  Rachel:  will  you  not  let  me  work  a  little  while 
for  you?"  He  tried  to  draw  her  to  him.  "Judith! 
Judith!" 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  nestled  to  him.  "Oh,  hold 
me ! "  she  sobbed.     "Take  care  of  me  always ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Contains    Another    Proposal    op    Marriage,    and 
Settles  an  Old  Score 

The  whirling  in  Ellis's  head  was  ceasing,  the  blind 
restlessness  was  slowly  leaving  him.  Yet  still  he 
walked  up  and  down  in  his  library,  unmindful  of  the 
call  of  hunger.  For  as  his  anger  left  him  there  grew  in 
its  place  the  tmassuagable  yearning  which  he  was 
coming  to  know  too  well,  and  which  he  was  ashamed 
that  he  could  not  master.  For  there  had  never  been  a 
desire  which  he  could  not  crush,  or  a  passion  which  he 
cotdd  not  uproot,  if  they  stood  in  the  way  of  his  pur- 
poses. In  his  courtship  of  Judith  he  had  taken  care  to 
suppress  the  feelings  which,  apart  from  his  appreciation 
of  her  material  value,  occasionally  threatened  to  inter- 
fere with  his  entirely  deliberate  progress  in  her  regard 
and  her  father's  favour.  But  now,  when  all  was  over, 
the  little  pains  and  longings  which  he  had  crushed  down 
were  constantly  rising,  and  he  who  had  been  so  self- 
sufficing  was  now  lonely,  he  who  had  never  paused  to 
regret  was  often  bowed  with  despair.  And  Judith, 
Judith  was  in  his  mind  constantly;  it  was  she  who 
broke  his  sleep,  spoiled  his  work,  and  had  brought  about 
his  defeat.  His  rage  at  the  disaster  was  not  so  deep  as 
the  disturbance  which  the  sight  of  her  had  caused  in 
him.  But  even  that  he  would,  he  must,  repress — or 
where  would  she,  that  pale  girl,  bring  him? 

Three  times  in  the  past  month  had  this  confusion  of 
the  faculties  come  upon  him.     Wherever  lay  the  cause, 

307 


3o8  The  Bamer 

the  result  was  too  costly  to  be  permitted  to  continue. 
He  recognised  the  fits  now;  the  next  one  that  came  he 
would  meet  at  its  beginning — and  this  one  should  end 
at  once.  What  was  he  thinking  of?  His  men  must 
have  the  news  already ;  they  had  come  to  the  house  and 
he  had  sent  them  away,  playing  the  fool  here  by  him- 
self. Well,  he  would  go  out  and  find  them  now,  hearten 
them,  and  prepare  at  once  for  the  long  fight  with  which 
he  had  threatened  his  enemies.  Ah — and  he  ground  his 
teeth  with  anticipation — he  meant  all  that  he  had  said. 

His  faculties  collected  at  last,  he  turned  to  the  door, 
and  met  the  cautious  face  of  his  butler. 

"A  lady,  sir,"  said  the  man,  prepared  to  be  damned 
from  the  room.  He  was  relieved  when  his  master 
said:     "Show  her  in." 

But  the  lady,  having  no  intention  of  being  turned 
away,  was  close  behind.  "Very  wise  of  you,"  she  said, 
entering  even  as  he  spoke.  "Because  I  meant  to  come 
in  anyway,  Stephen." 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Lydia?"  asked  Ellis,  darting  a  look 
before  which  the  butler  retired.     "What  brings  you?" 

Mrs.  Harmon  unwound  the  long  scarf  from  her  neck, 
and  stood  before  him  smiling.  "An  errand  of  mercy, 
to  comfort  the  broken-hearted.  Come,  don't  scowl." 
She  unbuckled  her  cloak,  swung  it  from  her  shoulders, 
and  tossed  it  on  a  chair.     "There,  how  do  you  like  me  ? " 

In  spite  of  his  mood  he  caught  his  breath.  For  she 
was  dressed  in  black  and  adorned  with  pearls ;  the  dress 
was  cut  so  low  that  it  more  than  suggested  the  charms 
which  it  concealed.  And  those  which  it  revealed  were 
perfect:  the  full  and  rosy  throat,  the  shoulders,  and  the 
arms.  The  pearls  set  off  the  blackness  of  the  dress, 
and  took  to  themselves  the  warmth  of  her  skin.  For 
a  moment  ElUs  looked  at  her  with  pleasure,  then  he 
recovered  himself. 


Another  Proposal  309 

"Full  mourning,  I  see,"  he  grunted. 

"Don't  be  disagreeable,"  she  returned.  "It's  my 
best  and  newest.  Come,  say  I  never  looked  so  well 
before." 

"You  never  did,"  he  agreed.  Always  Lydia  had 
dressed,  he  reflected,  as  much  as  she  dared;  now  that 
she  was  free  she  evidently  intended  to  go  the  limit. 
"It  certainly  becomes  you,"  he  added. 

"I  may  sit  down?"  she  asked.  "Thanks.  Now, 
Stephen,  I  want  to  talk  business." 

"Talk,"  he  said,  sitting  before  her.     "It's  about " 

"This  afternoon's  news.  Oh,  yes,"  as  he  turned  his 
eyes  away,  "it's  got  to  me  already.  Some  of  your  men, 
not  getting  in  here,  came  to  see  me.  How  did  it  happen, 
Stephen?" 

"Price,"    he    answered    between    his    teeth.     "By 

God,   I "     The  curse  and  the  threat    died   away, 

and  he  sat  staring  at  the  carpet. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "and  I  warned  you  of  him!" 

"Well,"  he  growled,  "it's  over.  I'm  not  looking 
back." 

She  leaned  toward  him  earnestly.  "Are  you  looking 
ahead?     You're  not  giving  up,  are  you?" 

"No!"  he  cried  scornfully. 

"Good  I"  she  responded,  relieved,  but  then  she  asked: 
"What  has  got  into  you?  Three  times  you've  shut 
yourself  up  so." 

"Never  again,"  he  assured  her.  "It's  all  over, 
Lydia.     I  shall  never  spend  any  more  time — regretting." 

" I  thought  so,"  she  said.     "It's  Judith ? " 

"Yes,"  he  acknowledged  savagely.  "I've  taken  a 
little  time  to  be  a  fool.     Now  I'm  over  it." 

"If  you  are,"  she  replied,  "I'll  tell  you  something." 

"What  next?"  he  asked,  his  face  darkening. 

"I  went  by  the  Peases'  at  half -past  five,"  she  began 


3IO  The  Bawict 

slowly,  watching  him.  "I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street.     You  know  it's  almost  dark  at  that  hour?" 

"Oh,  tell  me  ! "  he  commanded. 

"I  saw  two  people  at  the  door,"  she  went  on  more 
rapidly.  "They  were  George  Mather  and  Judith. 
They  opened  the  door,  the  hall  was  lighted  inside,  and 
I  saw  their  figures  against  the  light.  As  they  went  in — 
it  wasn't  much,  but  he  put  his  arm  around  her." 

Ellis  started  abruptly  from  his  chair,  went  to  his 
desk,  and  stood  looking  down  at  it;  his  back  was  to 
her.  "I  thought  you  said  you  were  over  it,"  she  re- 
marked. 

As  abruptly  he  returned  and  took  his  seat.  "I 
expected  that." 

"Well,"  she  asked,  "and  now  what?" 

"Work,"  he  replied.  "I  can  always  have  plenty 
of  that." 

"Work?"  she  repeated.  "Like  the  man  in  the  novel 
who  works  to  forget?"  She  pointed  her  finger  at  him, 
teasingly,  and  laughed.  "Stephen,  I  do  believe  you 
were  in  love  with  her ! " 

He  scowled  his  contempt  at  the  weak  phrase.  In 
love  with  her !  But  then  its  central  word  struck  home 
with  the  force  of  a  new  idea,  and  involuntarily  he  rose 
again  from  his  seat.  Her  laughter  stopped;  her  gayety 
changed  to  alarm,  for  he  was  looking  at  her,  but  he 
saw  nothing. 

"What  is  it  ? "  she  asked  uneasily.  "^ 

Love?  Love!  He  understood.  "I  loved  her!"  he 
said,  and  then  added  quietly,  "I  love  her!" 

She  bridled  and  looked  down.  "I  too  have  been 
through  that,  Stephen." 

But  he  stood  staring  before  him.  He  loved ! — and 
all  was  clear  to  him.  Thence  came  those  pains,  those 
harsh  distresses,  those  unappeasable  longings;    thence 


Another  Proposal  311 

the  distraction  which  caused  his  failure.  Judith  had 
set  this  poison  in  his  blood.  He  laughed  mirthlessly. 
How  the  girl  had  revenged  herself  I 

But  he  loved  !  Relief  came  to  him  as  he  realised  that 
no  ordinary  weakness,  but  the  higher  lot  of  man  (so  he 
had  heard  it  called)  was  overpowering  him.  He  had 
never  been  fond  of  any  one  in  his  Ufe,  and  yet  he  loved  ! 
Love  !  That  was  a  passion  he  had  never  expected  to 
meet;  there  was  no  shame  in  falUng  before  it — and  he 
felt  in  his  pain  even  a  fierce  delight.     He  loved  the  girl ! 

And  now  he  knew  he  would  never  be  the  same  man 
again — never  could  work  so  free  of  soul,  never  forget 
those  high  ideals  of  hers,  nor  be  as  mindless  of  the 
consequences  of  his  acts.  He  smiled  with  scorn  of 
himself  as  he  saw  how  the  tables  had  been  turned  on 
him.  Meaning  to  win  the  girl,  to  buy  her,  he  had  instead 
roused  a  conscience,  and  learned  that  there  was  purity 
in  the  world.  This  was  what  they  meant,  then,  those 
hitherto  inexplicable  fits  of  his:  that  a  new  nature  was 
trying  to  assert  itself,  that  a  terrible  discontent  was 
aroused,  that  his  whole  life  had  changed,  and  that 
within  an  unsuspected  recess  of  his  nature  there  was  this 
open  wound,  unhealing,  draining  his  strength. 

Where  then  was  his  boast  to  his  enemies,  of  what 
worth  his  threats  ?  Could  he  ever  fight  again  as  before, 
ever  manage  and  plan?    Again  he  laughed  scornfully. 

"You  needn't  laugh,"  complained  Mrs.  Harmon.  "I 
do  understand  it  all." 

"  I  wasn't  laughing  at  you,"  he  answered.  " — ^Well, 
forget  all  this,  Lydia.     What  is  it  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"Will  you  forget  all  this?"  she  asked  with  meaning. 
"Then  look  ahead  with  me  for  a  while,  Stephen.  You 
won't  be  president." 

"And  I've  lost  my  mayor,"  he  added. 

"Will  it  mean  so  much?"  she  asked,  disappointed. 


31  a  The  Bamcr 

"It's  Mather's  year,"  he  said  decidedly.  "Every- 
thing's going  his  way ;  it  happens  so  every  once  in  a  while 
in  New  York.  Then  Tammany  lays  low;  so  shall  I. 
But  in  the  end  they  come  in  again;  so  with  me." 

"Then,  planning  for  the  future,"  she  began,  but 
hesitated,  stopped,  and  started  differently.  "I've  suf- 
fered a  good  deal,  in  this  past  year.  We  haven't  got 
anything  we  wished,  either  you  or  I." 

He  wondered  what  brought  her.  "That  is  true,"  he 
said,  not  intending  to  commit  himself. 

"I've  suffered  from  Judith  as  well  as  you,"  com- 
plained Mrs.  Harmon.  "She  insulted  me  the  other  day; 
she  isn't  what  I  thought  her,  Stephen." 

"Nor  what  I  thought,"  he  said,  waiting. 

"And  the  others,"  she  went  on,  "turn  me  down, 
too.  You  would  suppose  that  my  position,  and  my 
loss — but  they  are  colder  to  me  than  ever."  She 
looked  down. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "it  isn't  like  you  to  be  so  mild, 
Lydia.     Aren't  you  just  a  little  mad,  underneath?" 

"Oh,  I  hate  them  all ! "  she  burst  out.  She  looked  at 
him  with  flashing  eyes,  then  asked  directly,  "Do  you, 
Stephen?" 

"Well,  suppose  I  do;  what  then?"  he  asked,  wishing 
her  to  show  her  hand. 

"I  will  leave  them,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon  with  vigour. 
"So  will  you.     And  we  will  leave  them  together." 

"It  won't  be  a  formal  leavetaking,"  he  said,  not 
understanding.     "We  just  leave  them,  don't  we?" 

"Oh,"  she  replied,  "I  can't  bear  just  to  drop  out.  I 
want  them  to  understand  that  I've  no  more  use  for 
them."  She  looked  to  see  if  he  comprehended,  but  he 
remained  silent  and  his  face  showed  nothing.  "I've 
lost  my  husband,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  encouraging.     "Go  on." 


Another  Proposal  313 

She  finished  with  an  effort.  "And  you  wanted — a 
wife?" 

"Good  God  !"  he  said  slowly, 

"I  could  be  of  use  to  you,"  she  explained  quickly, 
"More  than  Judith.  See  how  your  men  come  to  me  for 
advice?" 

"Your  husband  is  but  two  months  in  his  grave," 
he  cried,  "And  you  wear  Wayne's  jewels  at  your 
throat!" 

"But  I  don't  mean  to  do  it  at  once,"  she  said,  ag- 
grieved.    "  For  a  few  months  it  could  be — understood." 

"I  see,"  he  said,  mastering  his  disgust,  "Anything 
more,  Lydia?" 

"And  I  should  like  to  leave  something  to  remember 
us  by,"  she  went  on,  taking  confidence.  "So  that  they 
shall  feel  that  we  aren't  just  beaten." 

"How  will  you  do  it?" 

"They  are  like  a  big  family,"  she  said.  "  Hurt  one, 
and  the  others  are  against  you.  I  think  they  com- 
bined against  you  out  of  revenge  for — ^Judith,  as  much 
as  to  help  Mather." 

"Perhaps,"  he  commented. 

"  They  think  a  great  deal  of  those  two,"  she  pro- 
ceeded. "If  we  could  hurt  them  we  could  anger  all 
the  others." 

"How  do  you  propose  to  do  it?"  he  inquired. 

"You  have  that  note  of  hers,"  she  said.     "You  said 

she  could  pay  at  her  leisure,  but "  she  eyed  him 

keenly.     "Stephen,  I  never  believed  that." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  acknowledged.  "I  could 
come  down  on  her  to-morrow  for  the  money."  He 
looked  at  Mrs.  Harmon  impassively,  but  she  was 
satisfied. 

"Then  do!"  she  urged,  rising. 

"I  see,"  he  said.     "If  her  friends  have  to  make  up 


3X4  The  Barrier 

the  money  for  her  it  puts  her  in  the  position  of  a  beggar, 
makes  her  ridiculous,  doesn't  it?" 

"  More  than  that,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  If  people  know 
she  has  signed  a  note  to  you,  they  will  think,  don't  you 
see,  and  say  things." 

His  brows  contracted,  and  from  under  them  his  eyes 
began  to  glow,  characteristically.  "What  will  they 
say?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  there  will  be  a  great  to-do,  a  quiet  scandal,  and 
under  cover  of  it  you — we  retire  with  credit." 

"You  have  thought  it  all  out  very  well,"  he  said. 

"Haven't  I?"  she  asked  complacently. 

"And  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  I  might  as  well  begin 
to-morrow.  In  fact,  I  could  send  some  kind  of  a  sum- 
mons to  Miss  Blanchard  to-night." 

"Any  day,  only  soon,"  she  agreed.  "Before  the 
stockholders'  meeting  will  be  best." 

"Now  is  the  time,"  he  said.  He  went  to  his  desk, 
stooped  over  it,  and  wrote  rapidly.  Then  he  brought 
her  the  paper.  "Will  that  do?"  He  had  merely 
written:     "With  the  best  wishes  of  Stephen  F.  ElHs." 

"Why,"  she  began  doubtfully.  " Oh,  I  see ;  you  mean 
to  be  sarcastic.     And  what  will  you  inclose  with  this?" 

He  took  the  note  from  his  pocket-book  and  showed 
it  to  her.  "For  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  you  see.  And 
it  is  in  legal  form." 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  satisfaction.  "You'll  just 
remind  her  that  you  have  it,  and  demand  immediate 
payment?" 

"I  will  do  this,"  he  replied.  He  tore  the  note  across, 
laid  the  pieces  together,  and  tore  them  again,  and  once 
again.  Then  he  folded  them  with  the  paper  on  which 
he  had  written. 

"Stephen!  "she  cried. 

He  took  an  envelope  from  the  desk  and  put  the 


Another  Proposal  315 

papers  in.  "And  I  send  it  all  to  her.  Now  perhaps 
you  understand  ? " 

His  tone  was  suddenly  fierce,  and  as  he  approached 
her  she  backed  away.     "Why "  she  said,  astonished. 

"That  was  a  good  idea  of  yours,"  he  sneered,  standing 
close  to  her.  "Between  us,  we  could  smirch  her  name. 
You  to  do  the  talking,  of  course."  He  snatched  her 
wrist  and  pushed  his  face  close  to  hers.  "Have  you 
told  any  one  I  held  that  note?" 

"No  ! "  she  answered,  frightened. 

"The  truth ! "  he  insisted. 

"No  one;  no  one  ! "  she  repHed. 

He  cast  her  hand  away,  and  stepped  back.  "If  you 
tell  any  one,  with  that  damned  tongue  of  yours,  Lydia, 
I'll  have  your  blood ! " 

"I  will  never  tell!"  she  protested,  thoroughly  cowed. 

He  turned  away  from  her.  "Let  them  tell  if  they 
wish,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder.  "They  won't,  to  save 
the  Colonel's  reputation ;  but  if  they  do — ^you  keep  quiet. 
Fool  I  was  to  tell  you ! "  He  went  to  the  desk  again, 
and  took  up  his  pen  to  address  the  envelope.  "Good- 
night, Lydia,"  he  said  absently. 

"But,  Stephen ! "  she  began  to  plead. 

"Don't  provoke  me,"  he  interrupted,  pausing  with 
his  pen  poised.  "Don't  provoke  me,  Lydia."  As  she 
did  not  move,  he  turned  on  her.     "  Confound  it,  go  I" 

She  dared  not  say  a  word  to  anger  him  further;  she 
feared  even  to  look  her  disgust,  lest  she  should  cut  her- 
self off  from  him  forever.  Taking  her  cloak  and  scarf, 
she  went  to  the  door;  she  paused  there  for  an  instant, 
only  to  see  with  fury  that  he  had  turned  again  to  the 
desk  and  was  writing.  White  with  rage  at  her  failure, 
she  went  away. 

But  Ellis  was  at  peace  with  himself,  and  looked 
the  future  in  the  face.     He  loved,  he  would  suffer,  he 


3i6  The  Bamer 

did  not  even  wish  to  forget.  DeHberately  he  left  the 
house  and  walked  to  the  Pease  homestead.  He  rang 
the  bell,  gave  to  the  servant  his  missive  for  Judith,  and 
for  a  full  minute  after  the  door  closed  he  stood  on  the 
sidewalk,  looking  at  the  lighted  windows  of  the  house. 
But  then,  shivering,  he  drew  his  coat  closely  around 
him,  and  hurried  away  from  that  abode  of  happiness. 


A    000  125  466    3 


